Songbird
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: Blaine's a songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's a cyborg with music software installed and an attitude. Blaine thinks that "All My Friends Are Dicks" can be the next top hit. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's human, too. AU, Klaine.
1. Nestling

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>AN: Yeah, so I haven't written a chapter fic in a long, long time.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Lol no. Not a chance.<p>

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><p>Chapter One: Nestling<p>

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><p>Kurt Hummel had never in his entire life been average. He personally thought that he'd been a fairly normal little boy, but being able to lift the stove over his head tended to not be something that little boys were generally able to do, especially not at the tender age of three. Normal little boys probably wouldn't have thanked the microwave for nuking his baked potato either, nor made sure to pat the television whenever he turned it off.<p>

He'd never had any issues with his sight, nor broken a bone, even when his father had accidentally dropped a bumper on his ribs while working on a car in the shop.

But most normal little boys didn't usually check their e-mail in their heads, nor were they usually able to download software, and most little boys didn't include an antivirus scan in their pre-bed routine. Come to think of it, most little boys didn't even need an antivirus, though it would probably do marvels for the common cold. The day he'd begun to look at boys and see them as attractive, he'd asked his father if he had some malware that had gotten past his firewalls.

Burt Hummel had merely smiled and knelt down, pulling his child into his arms and holding him tight, because Kurt Hummel might have had a skeletal infrastructure made of a titanium and tungsten alloy instead of bone and he might have had a little more circuitry in his head than most people and sometimes he had to eat more than most people to keep his energy levels high, but Kurt Hummel was human and absolutely perfect.

Kurt Hummel almost hadn't existed and Burt would take what made him different a thousand times over than face the alternative: a world where Kurt, born too fragile and too broken and too human to survive with the body he'd been given, would have been thrown away.

He'd grown up knowing he was human, Burt and Elizabeth had made sure of that.

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><p>Blaine Anderson had always known that he was pretty average. He'd been a normal kid, running around the yard and playing tag with the neighborhood kids and taking piano lessons. He'd gone to school and gotten pretty good grades and never really wanted for friends, because he was friendly and smart and liked to share his cookies.<p>

When he was young, there was a time where he had to wear glasses that thankfully he'd grown out of, and for two years in high school, he'd had to wear braces. He'd survived with his social life intact, but his class picture from those two years would never see the light of day.

Blaine had been thirteen when he realized that while his friends were talking about who the prettiest girls were and who'd grown boobs over the summer, he himself didn't really care about girls, at least not like that. They were good to have as friends but he never wanted to kiss them, and when he thought of getting married, he always thought of being with a boy first. He didn't go on a single date throughout high school, and never had someone to go with for prom, at least not the way he wanted. Blaine never told his parents, but he knew that his sisters had all known and if life treated him well, that would be how it stayed.

Blaine Anderson was impassioned about music, but couldn't help feeling that the reason he couldn't write a single song he liked was because to write about life, he'd have to live, and no one wanted to hear the songs of a loveless failure of a songwriter who was going through the tragic ennui of his early twenties.

Blaine Anderson was far more human than he wanted to be, and would have given about anything for an excuse to not be.

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><p>"Kurt, are you sure about this? You really don't have to feel like I want you out of the house or anything, and I—"<p>

Kurt and Burt Hummel stood in the empty doorway of Kurt's brand new apartment. It was on the third floor and had two bedrooms, one of which was going to be turned into a library, and more space than one eighteen year old really needed to feel secure. Currently, it was filled with boxes and furniture that would be moved at least three times before the day was up, and bags upon bags of groceries rested on the counters, waiting to be put away. Kurt held a stack of signed lease papers in his hand, his keys in the other.

"Dad, I know," Kurt reached forward for a hug, and felt the comforting weight of his father's arms settle around his shoulders, "It's not because of that. I just feel like, you know, I'm old enough that I ought to live on my own. We're not far away either, so I can still make Friday dinners with you and Carole and Finn. I've made enough money from working that I can pay the rent at the places I've looked and a solid job is more than most people my age can ask for. There's something to be said for stability." Kurt smiled, trying to look reassuring, but Burt Hummel didn't buy it for one second. The hand holding the lease agreement was white-knuckled, and Kurt had eaten four scrambled eggs that morning for breakfast instead of the usual two and toast.

"I wish-"

"Dad, please," Reassuring turned to a plea, "It's not anyone's fault that the colleges I applied to didn't…well. Didn't like me. We're both too honest to lie to the acceptance boards, and no one trusts someone like me to take a test without having an advantage up here," the boy tapped the side of his head and smiled.

"God, Kurt. You're barely eighteen. You should be in college, living it up with people your age and reveling in not having me around," Burt returned his son's smile but it was sadder, and he couldn't control the twisting feeling in his stomach when Kurt reached out for him again, as if he were the comforter, as if he'd been the one to see Burt cry so many times over this in the past few months instead of the reverse.

"I know. But it's how it is, right? I wanted to go to college, but it just didn't work out like that. Maybe one day. But right now, I'll be okay like this." Kurt straightened his back and inhaled loudly, as if expelling all the poisons and taking in everything afresh, "We can't all take a normal path."

"You've always been normal, Kurt."

"No I haven't, but I love you more than anything for insisting on it."

One more hug and then Burt Hummel was walking towards his car, down the stairs, head bent so that his only, precious child wouldn't see him crying. Kurt watched him go, watched his car pull out of the parking lot. He knew that Burt would do what he always did when he was upset; he'd hole up in his lab and work with his machines for hours and probably fix a few cars because he could and Carole would probably have to lure him out with sugar cookies and a well-placed guilt trip. Kurt would do what he always did when he was upset: blast music as loud as he dared and organize his closet by style and season and color.

He sighed and surveyed his new domain, before rolling up his sleeves and starting to put away his groceries, introducing himself to the appliances and trying to figure out where he was going to put his couch, hips already swaying to the beat of a song playing in his head.

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><p>Blaine hadn't expected to get a neighbor at all, much less at the very beginning of summer like this. People liked to move in and out during the fall and spring and Blaine had gotten used to seeing the empty name slot on the mailbox by the apartment next to his, but that empty slot was now replaced with <em>Hummel, Kurt<em> and while Blaine had never prided himself on being more or less curious about people than anyone else, he wondered what Kurt would be like.

Probably an older guy, with his luck. Probably an older guy who liked to go to bed by nine and didn't like rowdy twenty-one year olds like Blaine who liked to play loud music and make up dances up and down the hallway. He wouldn't like boys like Blaine who danced around his kitchen while he attempted to make cup noodles, air guitaring with his broom.

Blaine leaned out of his room, peering closer to the door next to his as if that would somehow give him x-ray vision.

He jumped when the door suddenly opened and what looked like a giant, grumbling pile of boxes stumbled out. The person carrying them (for boxes surely didn't carry themselves, not even with all the advanced robotics of the age) muttered insults under his breath that didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular and without thinking about it, Blaine found himself walking up to the box pile, taking a few off the top.

"Hey, let me give you a hand there," he offered, shouldering the boxes. His gesture had revealed _not_ an old man, but a young guy with slightly tousled chestnut hair and a thin frame.

"Oh, thanks," the guy who must have been Kurt Hummel said, voice higher than Blaine would have expected, "They're not heavy, but being light doesn't make them any easier to see around,"

"For trash pickup?" Blaine asked, and the guy nodded, "Just set them down in front of your door. They come pick it up at night so you won't have to drag it down to the dumpster." He set his boxes down and straightened them up so that they stacked and Kurt copied him, setting down his pile as well. "I'm Blaine Anderson, I'm in the room next to this one. You're Ku—"

"I'm Kurt Hummel, yes," Kurt interrupted, dusting himself off though there didn't seem to be any mess on his clothes. "I just moved in today. Nice to meet you." He extended a hand for Blaine to shake, and felt calluses on the man's fingers. "Guitar player?" Blaine blinked in shock.

"Yeah, how'd you—"

"Your fingertips. Probably not your chording hand, so from playing pick-less? Acoustic?"

"Y-yeah…" Blaine stammered, thrown for a loop by this newcomer who didn't seem to need to ask questions to get his answers. "I write music, too."

"Oh, really?" Kurt asked, leaning forward in curiosity, eyes lighting up, "That's fantastic. I'd love to hear something you've written sometime. Right now, though, I've got to get the rest of my stuff unpacked. I'll probably see you around though, since we're going to be neighbors." For the first time since they'd begun to speak, Kurt smiled and Blaine noticed that it seemed to soften his whole being, rounding him out and making him look entirely less aloof than he'd started.

"Yeah, I'll see you later," Blaine replied, turning and making his way back into his room with a wave.

As he surveyed his living room, he thought back to the boy in the room next door and wondered just how soon he could make that later he'd proposed.

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><p>AN2: And there's chapter one! If you liked it, please leave a review! If you hated it, leave a review and tell me what you hated.<p> 


	2. Building a Nest

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: No, guys. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Oh my lord, thank you so much for all the reviews and encouragement! They really made my day, and the more feedback I get, the faster I tend to write. I hope you all enjoy chapter two!<p>

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><p>Chapter Two: Building a Nest<p>

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><p>"<em>I'm Blaine Anderson, by the way."<em>

Three days after he moved in, Kurt's apartment was finally the way he wanted it.

He'd gotten permission to paint the walls (his father being so well-known probably had a lot to do with that, not that Kurt was complaining) and now the sterile white walls were now covered in color. He'd chosen colors that he would normally have been scared off by; combinations of blues and greens and yellows that made him feel less lonely when he looked at them.

His room at home had been a grey so light it had almost been white, now it was a bright sea blue trimmed in pale yellow and gold.

Kurt told himself that change was a good thing, and not just because he didn't want this place to remind him of home so badly that it hurt.

Sitting in the room he dubbed his library, Kurt knew that his father would be more than happy to have him home again. Finn still lived at home after being accepted into the local community college and not being quite ready to leave, but Kurt? After not being accepted into _any_ college, the last thing he wanted to do was live at home and see what he couldn't have every day.

He'd seen Blaine twice since their first meeting but not long enough to talk. The older man (for he had to be older, even if Kurt looked about fifteen and almost everyone looked older than he did) seemed to be a bustling sort, always in and out but never giving any indication of just where he was going. Kurt wondered if maybe he went to college too, or if he just had an erratic work schedule.

Kurt's schedule depended solely on deadlines; when he had to have a particular web site designed for a client, when he needed to repair someone's machine that was on the fritz (he was particularly good at those jobs), and when, when he was asked, he needed to have that article on the latest collection of Marc Jacobs scarves sent in. No one knew, of course, that most of his work was done in his head, but they didn't really need to for his work to be quality, did they? Frankly, it wasn't what he wanted to do, but he was good enough at it and they paid the bills.

Kurt stilled, feeling the notification that he'd just gotten an e-mail. He'd discovered quickly that watching him check was disconcerting to watch if you weren't used to it –the first time, Mercedes had thought he'd gone briefly catatonic and was fairly close to trying to clobber him out of it- but he'd gotten better at multi-tasking over the years and now could at least carry on a partial conversation at the same time.

Not that it mattered, since Mercedes was in New York and he wasn't and good god, he was not going to let that hurt as much as it did. He loved her unconditionally and she accepted him and everything he was with no reservations and to not have her here was disconcerting at best and made him wish that he was just a little more robotic at worst.

Shaking his head, Kurt hoisted himself up off of his chair and headed towards the kitchen. His stomach was rumbling and he'd been tired lately and more prone to melancholy, so he really ought to eat even though it was earlier than he liked, if only to keep himself from hibernating at an inopportune moment.

"What to eat, what to eat," he muttered, going through the cabinets, "It kind of sucks to just cook for me."

He stopped suddenly, eyeing his front door and thinking of Blaine.

It wouldn't be terribly weird to offer him something, would it? Kurt was lonelier than he wanted to admit and Blaine didn't seem the type to cook all that much for himself, and frankly he found himself interested in him. The people who lived downstairs and above seemed normal enough; a middle aged woman with two kids, and elderly man on the ground floor who walked his Labrador everywhere, but Blaine filed himself in his head as interesting.

Kurt rummaged through the fridge and took out a package of boneless chicken thighs, along with an onion, a bell pepper, and some mushrooms. From the pantry, various spices and a can of tomatoes joined the fresh ingredients on the counter, and soon Kurt had the makings of chicken cacciatore braising happily on his stove. Closing his eyes, he sniffed appreciatively, soaking up the smells and sounds, already hungrier than he'd started just thinking about it.

And then there was the hard part.

There was no excuse to procrastinate; the food had been braising for over forty-five minutes now and would be done soon. If he was going to man up and ask Blaine over, he wasn't going to get a much better chance.

Kurt almost talked himself out of it.

Almost.

Finally though, he stood in front of Blaine's door, hand poised to knock. He bit his lip. Maybe he shouldn't bother. It wasn't too late to just turn around and go back in, eat his dinner, and get some work done. Maybe troll some forums, get his virus scan done early…

He turned around to leave.

"…Kurt?"

Kurt froze at the voice and about faced, eyes wide and surprised as if he were staring into a pair of headlights. Blaine stood in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and a band t-shirt, head cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised.

"Oh… um. Hi, Blaine."

"Hi? What's up? You looked like you wanted something."

"Oh. Um… I just—uh…" Kurt couldn't believe this and he couldn't understand where the hell his words had gone. He'd had it all planned out too, what to say and how to say it and then without any warning, they were all gone. Blaine stayed quiet though, clearly waiting, and the younger boy fidgeted slightly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I wondered if you wanted to eat!" He burst out, then realizing that _oh god that sounded weird_ and elaborating, "In my apartment, I mean. I made too much food for just me. You don't have to eat with me though, I mean, you could just take some if you wanted and didn't want to…" he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed and wondering why he'd done this because he sounded like a total weirdo right now and he probably wouldn't have eaten with him either. "I'm sorry, I can just go—"

"No, don't," Blaine interrupted, stepping forward, smiling. "I'd like to eat with you, if you don't mind sweatpants."

Kurt could have fainted with relief and he relaxed, stilling his movements, letting himself smile.

"Oh, good," he said, stepping away and opening his own door, "Come on in, it's almost done."

He walked inside and Blaine followed him, gaping at the walls.

"Holy hell, how did you manage to get them to let you do this?"

"I may have given up part of my soul, but it's totally worth it," Kurt replied, gravitating towards the dutch oven and popping the lid to stir things around, before beginning to starting the making of boiling pasta. "Oh, crap. You're not vegetarian or anything, right?"

"No, not at all. Even if I was, I'd probably be okay with this, it smells delicious. What is it?"

"Chicken cacciatore," Kurt answered, "Do you cook at all?"

Blaine shrugged, looking sheepish.

"Not a bit. Never needed to." Kurt looked scandalized, turning and staring at him as if he'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"What are you living on? Fast food?"

"Close enough," the shorter man muttered, "Mostly ramen."

Kurt grimaced and was relieved when the water began to boil because that meant that he could toss in the pasta and not go on a full tirade about the terrible things that ramen did to one's system.

"How'd you learn?"

"My mother," Kurt answered after a startled pause, "I always used to watch her and then she…well, she passed away when I was young so I took over for her, for my dad. I always kind of thought that it made it just a little less hard, or maybe harder, I'm not quite sure. She was gone but her food was still around. Dad would live off of beef jerky if I let him." Blaine nodded, going quiet.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds were the noises of Kurt straining the pasta and putting it into a dish, then taking the cacciatore off the stove and putting _that_ in a dish, then reaching into the oven and pulling out a loaf of Italian bread that had been toasted with garlic spread.

"Holy crap, Kurt. This is a feast."

The younger boy smiled enigmatically, the look on his face closed and secretive.

"I have to eat a lot, so I might as well eat well, right?" He set the dishes on the table and took a pair of plates out of the cabinet, matching it with some silverware and napkins. "You drink milk?" The look on Blaine face said _definitely not_, and Kurt couldn't resist throwing in a slightly teasing, "Maybe that's why I'm taller than you."

Now it was Blaine's turn to look scandalized.

"What? It is _not_—yes, please," he reluctantly consented, watching as Kurt poured two glasses, "Ahhh, I feel kind of bad now, I didn't even ask if there was anything I could do to help…"

"It's fine, I've got it. It's basically done anyway. Besides, I invited you. What sort of host would I be if I expected you to help?"

"What sort of guest would I be if I didn't offer, if belatedly?" Blaine countered, and Kurt made a shooting gun motion with his hand.

"Touché, Blaine Anderson, touché. Well played, sir." Kurt's eyes crinkled up when he smiled this time, and he made a sweeping gesture to the table, "Sit wherever you like."

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><p>"Oh my god. I don't think I can ever eat ramen again." Blaine's voice was breathy and astounded and Kurt seriously thought that he might choke to death on a piece of chicken if he didn't slow down. It was a good thing that Kurt had googled the Heimlich out of curiosity a while back.<p>

"Oh, you caught me," he quipped, "It was all my secret plan to get you to starve to death by getting you so hooked on my food that you can no longer live without it."

"Culinary mind control?"

"Absolutely."

"I like it. Classy and yet creative."

Kurt took a bite and savored it slowly, reveling in the beauty of getting a piece of everything in every single bite, quietly watching Blaine across the table. Conversation had been easier than he'd expected it to be, to his pleasure and surprise. They stuck to light, simple subjects that mostly revolved around what Blaine referred to as turning rabbit food into something delicious.

"How old are you, Kurt?" Blaine asked suddenly, popping a bite of chicken into his mouth and chewing reverently.

"Just turned eighteen this May," Kurt answered, cocking his head. "Why? How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," Blaine replied, "And I was just curious—"

"It's because of the babyface, isn't it?" Kurt asked dryly, and was rewarded with a shamefaced smile.

"Guilty."

Kurt scowled at him, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Beyond anything, he hoped that Blaine wouldn't ask _that_ question. The where-are-you-going-to-school because everyone asked that and it hurt every time he had to answer that no, he wasn't going to be a college freshman in the fall, that he wasn't going to have a major, that he wouldn't have the chance to join school clubs and maybe the university show choir that he'd made sure that all of his top choices had. It never came though, and Blaine didn't apologize for thinking that he was younger than he was, and Kurt didn't comment on the fact that Blaine grimaced every time he took a drink of milk.

"You said you wrote music?" the taller boy asked, daintily twirling pasta around his fork.

"I, uh, try to write music. It doesn't work very well." Blaine shrugged, "I guess I just haven't found the right inspiration. Or maybe I'm just no good at it. I can sing okay, but when it comes to writing, I kind of flop." He winced a little and flapped a hand, "It doesn't pay the bills though, so I work at the record store and play the guitar for various local cover bands."

"You work with music though, that's a start," Kurt's was light, contrasting with the Blaine's weighted tone that seemed to include sighs with every sentence, "I'd still like to hear a song, when you write one."

When. Not if.

"It'd be easier if I could figure out how to work with my music programs though," Blaine continued, "I'm not too good with computers either and I can only play the guitar, so I thought I'd do better if I tried out some software."

"What do you use?"

"If you can call it using. I've got Fortissimo installed on my laptop, though I can hardly make heads or tails of how to work it."

"FortissimoBright or FortissimoBeta?"

"I've got the Bright version. You know how to work it?"

"Something like that," Kurt replied, mentally bringing up his program list and remembering that he himself had installed it behind Burt's back a year ago, "It's not too difficult to work with," It helped to have it installed in your head, after all, "And I've got some experience with it. I can give you some pointers sometime if you want. I'm kind of…good with computers."

"Apparently. Are you magic or something?"

"No, not at all," Kurt's voice went a little wistful, just enough for Blaine to catch and pay attention to, "Just a little special, I guess."

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><p>"Thank you so much for dinner, it was delicious," Blaine said cheerfully, tossing his keys from hand to hand. In the doorway, Kurt smiled back, hands laced behind his back.<p>

"Thanks for eating with me," he replied, "Have a good night."

"You too, see you around, Kurt."

And then his apartment was empty again. Kurt closed the door with a click, sliding the deadbolt and turning the lock and made his way into his bedroom. They'd cleaned up the dishes together even though Blaine appeared to be a little bit clumsy and almost dropped their plates onto the tile, and the small amount of leftovers had been packaged up and put into the fridge for lunch tomorrow. It was nice to have a neighbor, and even nicer to have a neighbor that he got along with who didn't seem to immediately sense that he was different, even if those indications usually came from the way he dressed and the way he spoke.

A smile played across his face and he began to hum, absently sticking his iPod into the dock on his side table and setting it to random.

Kurt turned the lights down low and settled down at his desk to get to work, bringing up the layout that he was designing for a private company. The html and coding read like a book to him and he wrote it as easily as if he was writing an essay. Logo here, #3BB9FF for the main pages, no stupid animations, a photo of the facility appropriately placed.

Kurt felt like he could work all night, and he knew that it wasn't just because he'd eaten enough to give him an energy boost.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated and he answered it without looking at the screen.

"Hello, 'Cedes."

"_Hey, boy! You sound happier than you did yesterday. You can't possibly be working."_

"Hush up, I'm totally working. I feel happier than I did yesterday. I had dinner with my neighbor tonight."

"_Oooooh? The one named Blaine?"_

"How do you _do_ that? I'm the one with wifi in his head and I only mentioned him once to you."

"_You think I don't listen when you talk?"_

That was what was so different about Mercedes, Kurt thought with a smile. Most people just heard him. Mercedes _listened_. That was why he trusted her and why she was second on his speed dial second only to his father, and why he hadn't bothered to even try to hide the fact that he missed her terribly from her. She'd definitely know and be upset and Kurt hated it when he hurt her.

"_Did you have fun?"_

"Yeah, actually. I did."

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><p>Blaine's phone rang almost the second he got back to his apartment and he answered it after about four rings, debating on whether he really wanted to talk to Wes. Reluctantly, he flipped it open.<p>

"Hello."

"_Well, look who decided to answer. What gives, Anderson? We were supposed to go out to that sports bar you were raving about the other day."_

"Yeah… I'm sorry. I meant to call you and cancel, I ended up having dinner with my neighbor instead."

"_The cute one who looks about fifteen?"_

"Shut up, Wesley, he doesn't look that young. And he's eighteen. But yes, I was about to walk out and call you, but I opened the door and he was standing there instead." Looking lost and in the middle of an existential meltdown, but standing there regardless. "So I went over there and forgot. I'm really sorry."

"_Yeah, yeah. Blow us off for a boy you just met. I see how it is." _Wes' voice was teasing, though, _"We're only best friends from high school. Such a shallow relationship."_

"I said I was sorry! What do you want?"

"_I'm so glad you asked, Anderson. We're going out tomorrow and you're buying the first round."_

"Fine, deal."

"_Now, tell me about this snazzy dinner date you had with your new neighbor."_

Blaine blanched, scowling at his phone.

"It was _not_ a dinner date. Shut up. We just ate together because he made too much."

"_Mhmmmm."_

"Shut _up_. I'm hanging up now. We'll talk when we can have a mature conversation."

"_We'll be going a looooong time without speaking then, Blainey bear. See you tomorrow."_

Click, and the connection was cut. Blaine raised an eyebrow and shook his head, pocketing his phone and meandering over to his guitar. Time to try again.

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><p>AN2: And there's chapter two! Please let me know if you liked it, hated it, whatever. Feedback is an author's life blood.<p> 


	3. Settling

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance.<p>

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><p>AN: Again, thank you so much for all your feedback and encouragement. I appreciate every single one. I wasn't expecting anywhere near the sheer amount of story alerts that I've gotten on this fanfic, you guys are awesome and amazing.<p>

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><p>Chapter Three: Settling<p>

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><p>"Medium drip, please," Blaine told the barista, handing over a few dollars as payment and taking his coffee with a sigh. Next to him, Wes clapped him on the shoulder and steered him over to a table, picking up his finished latte on the way.<p>

"Going badly?" he asked the moment they were both seated, taking a sip and preparing for the inevitable. Blaine buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly.

"You don't even know. It's not a lack of playing skill, I can do cover songs fine. It's just…I can't write worth a crap."

Wes raised a brow.

"What have you written lately?" he asked, and Blaine let out another groan, running his hands through his hair.

"Oh my god, Wes, the best thing I've come up with lately is 'Loneliness and Ramen'. This is not going well."

Wes flinched and took another sip, shaking his head at his friend.

"No. No it's not. Beats last month's ditty: 'I'm Gay and Won't Tell my Father'." Blaine balled up his receipt and threw it across the table, nailing Wes on the shoulder. "You've got to get some new material. Or even if your lyrics suck, make it catchy enough to make people forget about how bad the words are."

"Every time I feel like I get something, it gets away from me. I feel like that software was supposed to help me keep everything together, but it just made everything more confusing."

"….dude, not even the best songwriter could make 'Loneliness and Ramen' anything but unadulterated awful. The only thing computer programs are going to do for you is make you all too aware of how bad you are right now, especially since you don't know how to use it to its full potential." The Asian man took another sip, furrowing his brows at Blaine, who looked about three steps away from finding a very tall roof. "Look, man, why don't you start by thinking of a kind of song that you'd want to hear? Not just the kind of song that other people want to hear."

Blaine frowned.

"What if I want to hear a song about a poor sod who spends his evenings sobbing into his cup noodles?"

"Except that if you were that pathetic I'd have to stop being your friend immediately," Wes snapped, and Blaine raised his hands in surrender.

"I kid, I'm not really that lame. It's just frustrating."

"Quit being a baby," Wes ordered, setting his now empty cup down on the table, "If I wanted to hear whining, I'd go home and babysit. We're grown-ups, it's time to get with it. Your existential crisis comes second to the fact that you have a job that pays, so focus on that first. Anyway, tell me again about this neighbor of yours."

Blaine had opened his mouth halfway through Wes' lecture but shut it, then narrowed his eyes.

"You yelled at me, you get nothing."

"You deserved it."

"Did not. And there's nothing to tell."

"Lies. You blew me off for him last week and I haven't gotten to interrogate you yet—" Wes was interrupted by a commercial that suddenly blasted loudly throughout the coffee shop, overpowering the music and conversation, and the man winced. "God, why are commercials always so much louder than regular television?"

_Don't forget, next week's release of Carbon Corporation's newest household helper will only be available for the first five- hundred people to pre-order! Equipped with the latest OS, Carbon Corp.'s newest release is subtle, quiet, and unobtrusive, fitting easily in a closet or pantry. Needing only three hours of charge before use, this unit comes with the latest antivirus and can be programmed to—_

The television cut out as one of the baristas grabbed the remote and lowered the volume. Wes rolled his eyes.

"My mom's already ordered one of those, months ago. Says she hates vacuuming, and can't wait to make a robot do it. Nothing beats a computer with legs."

"My mom says it's too lazy to do that," Blaine muttered, watching the end of the lowered commercial. "I have this terrible fear that one day, robots and computers are going to look like people and you're going to have to know what to look for to tell them apart."

"You've been watching too many movies," Wes said flippantly, "Now, back to your cute neighbor. What's he like?"

"Kind of funny, actually," Blaine began resentfully, but picked up speed as he kept talking, "He's kind of unusual. He just turned eighteen but he lives on his own, and somehow got the landlord to let him paint the walls." Wes whistled in appreciation.

"Going to college in town?"

"No idea, didn't ask. Amazing cook though, and dresses well. Kind of pretty, in a guy sort of way. Pale skin, brown hair, bright eyes. Tall."

"So… totally your type."

Wide-eyed, Blaine leaned forward and made a shushing motion with his hands which was promptly ignored.

"Man, I don't think about him like that! I barely know him, to start. He sets off my gaydar, but that's not something you just _ask_. It's something _you_ ask," he corrected, "But not me. It's not my business, anyway. He seems really self-sufficient for being so young. And apparently he can use Fortissimo."

"Unlike you."

This time, instead of a receipt, Blaine pelted his best friend with his empty coffee cup.

"_Fine, _Wes. Yes, unlike me," he growled, catching stink-eye from the barista and picking his cup up off the ground. Thinking, he turned it over in his hands, settling eventually on tracing his fingers over his name that was written on it. "He's interesting and different."

"Not only is he interesting, but you're interested. Even if it's not in a boyfriend-like way, you're interested."

An eyeroll, but Blaine reluctantly inclined his head a little. There'd be no point in lying to Wes; the guy was persistent and too observant for his own good even if they hadn't been best friends since the first day of high school. To tell the truth, he did find himself interested in Kurt, if only for curiosity's sake. Everything about him, to Blaine at least, seemed a little bit out of the ordinary in a way that he couldn't quite pin down and couldn't dislike in the way that he disliked most unusual things. Absently, the side of his lips quirked up, and Wes narrowed his eyes at him.

Interesting. Very interesting.

* * *

><p>"Finn Hudson, I am not your calculator!"<p>

"But Kurt, I lost mine—"

"Don't care!"

"Come on, Kurt! Please?"

"No!"

"But I need it for my geometry homework. Do you want me to fail before I even start class?"

"I don't care. I told you that I'm not your calculator, do you hear me? Go home and look for yours, it's probably under a mountain of moldy Doritos."

This was the exchange that Blaine heard loud and clear while walking up the stairs to his apartment. Kurt's voice was obvious, high and annoyed, but the person named Finn's was much lower and sounded just a little bit like a dope. Blaine found himself hurrying just a little faster up the stairs, peering around the corner to try and observe.

A very, very tall boy was standing in Kurt's open doorway, looming over the shorter boy who stood straight and proud, face alight with righteous fury and what looked like resentment.

Blaine had seen Kurt vaguely irritated while he was moving in, muttering and grumbling over various things but so far had never heard him raise his voice, and certainly not angrily. He felt suddenly grateful that he was experiencing this secondhand instead of being the recipient.

Kurt spoke again, voice lower and words too quiet to make out, before backing up and closing the door smartly. 'Finn' scratched his head and sighed, looking frustrated and kind of confused. Blaine wondered if he ought to try sneaking in behind him to get inside but this train of thought was cut off when the giant turned to face him, blinking as he caught sight of Blaine.

Who waved nervously.

"Er, hi there," he greeted, nervous smile matching his nervous wave. "Friend of Kurt's?"

"Brother, actually. Kind of. My mom married his dad." Finn replied with another sigh, returning his eyes to Kurt's door, "I probably shouldn't have asked him."

Blaine couldn't quite figure out why Kurt would be so upset over his stepbrother wanting to borrow his calculator, to be honest, but nodded nevertheless like he understood.

Suddenly, the door opened and Kurt popped his head out, having apparently traded in his rage for what looked like hurt instead. Hurt and resignation and stress were written all over his face and his eyes were shadowed.

"Okay," he muttered, "But please don't do this again?"

Finn nodded vigorously and shuffled inside while Kurt caught sight of Blaine and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Hello, Blaine. I'll see you around."

Blaine barely had time to reply before the door was shut and locked, a noise that sounded more final than it had any right to be.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Kurt," Finn had the moment he stepped inside, setting his bag down on the floor, "I can go home if you really don't want to."<p>

"Of course I don't want to," Kurt retorted, voice still strangely subdued and quiet, "But you're my brother and you can't afford to fail your summer math, right? I can help you, and I guess I should. But that doesn't mean I want to. Let's just get this done, and then we can catch up a little."

"I'm sorry."

Kurt sighed, feeling inexplicably guilty like he'd kicked a puppy that had run into a wall, and settled down at the low-slung coffee table in the middle of his living room.

"Come on, forget about it. I just don't like being your human calculator. Get over here."

Finn scrambled over and Kurt appeared to zone out. He supposed that he could have tried harder to multitask and possibly carry on a conversation at the same time, but he honestly wasn't feeling particularly generous and Finn could suffer with feeling unbelievably awkward as the guy he thought of as his brother essentially shut himself down.

"Calculator initialized. Awaiting verbal input command."

"Aww, damnit Kurt. I hate it when you do this, you can't just talk to me at the same time?"

A tiny smirk lifted up a corner of Kurt's mouth as he repeated,

"Awaiting verbal input command, Finnessa Hudson."

"Now, that's just unnecessary," Finn grumbled, but nevertheless spread his homework out on the table and began rattling off equations and calculations.

Eventually they were finished, and Kurt came back to himself seconds after terminating the program, blinking as if he'd been in the dark for too long.

"Thanks, Kurt. I owe you one."

"Damn straight you do," Kurt replied, flopping over on his side, headbutting Finn in the thigh on his way down. The taller boy grunted but didn't move away, staring down to watch his stepbrother. "Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"…how's Dad?" he asked in a smaller voice, looking oddly insecure for someone who usually acted so big, "Is he taking care of himself and everything?" Finn blinked, then smiled.

"He misses you. We all kind of miss you, even though you're not far away. Mom was talking about how she wants to take you shopping the next time you're over and surprise you—oops, don't tell her I told you, and Burt's not hiding in the lab as much anymore. Dr. James from Carbon came over and talked to him and ended up staying for dinner, he said to tell you hi…" Finn trailed off as Kurt closed his eyes slowly, a tiny smile playing on his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just keep talking."

And Finn did. He talked about the things that Burt was working on even though Kurt had heard them all from him over the phone and last Friday's dinner and the new shirt that Carole had bought, and how he missed Rachel even though she was crazy and they were trying their best for a long distance relationship. He talked about how he was kind of scared to start college and how worried he was that the only person he'd know in his classes would be Puck, and he talked about how he wanted a dog but his mother had refused. Finally, he talked about Kurt, after making sure that he wouldn't be killed for it.

He talked about how was still a little hard to get used to the things that made him different but that he was trying and that he hoped things would only get better. He talked about how surprised he'd been when he realized that the idea of Kurt holding hands with a boy wasn't weird to him anymore. Kurt had reached out, eyes still closed, and briefly squeezed his fingers into the fabric at Finn's knee at that one. He talked about how angry he'd been at the acceptance boards for rejecting him on reasons he couldn't control.

Kurt sat up before Finn had a chance to apologize for events long past, stretching his arms over his head and dusting himself off. His whole manner seemed calmer and more relaxed after the few minutes of down time, all around more content, and he smiled fondly at his stepbrother.

"Hey, you said that Carole was cooking tonight, right? In payment for my helping you, you are going to call her and tell her that I'm coming with you, and that you'll be driving me back afterwards because taking two cars is stupid. Got that?" His voice was imperious but the smile didn't slip, and Finn returned it, rubbing the back of his head with a hand.

"Got it," he said, and took out his phone.

* * *

><p>Blaine wondered if Kurt had felt like this, standing outside his door, brain racing and debating whether or not he should walk away and just forget the whole thing. He'd looked lost enough for it, certainly, but seeing it and feeling it himself were two entirely different things and Blaine didn't think that he liked the feeling.<p>

He inhaled loudly, straightening to his full height and unclenching his hands from where they twined in his belt loops, a blatant indication of his nerves. It had been about three days since he'd witnessed Kurt's blowup with his brother and, thankfully, hadn't encountered any more since then. He saw Finn again the next day but didn't hear any shouts or insults, instead opening his door just in time to see the gargantuan boy step out of Kurt's apartment, leaning in just before leaving to tug him in for a hug.

Blaine raised his hand to knock.

When Kurt had been here, it'd be convenient enough that Blaine had just opened the door up on him and made the decision for him. There was no way that Blaine could be so lucky, he thought, staring at the door that remained stubbornly closed.

Finally, his fist met the door and the sound that followed seemed so much louder than it ought to have been allowed to be.

Seconds later, the door swung open and he was face to face with a curious Kurt.

"Oh, hello," he greeted, "How are you?"

"I'm, uh, good, thanks. You?"

"Just fine. Can I, um, help you with anything?"

Blaine gulped.

"I was sort of wondering… um. Er. You said that you knew how to use Fortissimo, right?"

"I did."

Now or never.

"I was wondering if you could show me how to use it. I need some serious help."

If that wasn't the last thing that Kurt was expecting him to ask, he wasn't sure what was.

* * *

><p>AN2: And chapter three's done! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, or even if you hated it. I love that so many people are reading this, and I hope that you continue to like it!<p> 


	4. Fortissimo

Songbird

* * *

><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance. If I owned, I would be much richer than I am.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: I love you guys! Thank you for all of your comments and favorites.<p>

Just a note: this is a Kurt without Dalton. This is a Kurt who's made it through high school on thick skin and sheer force of will. He's had to fight for what he has and he's used to having to keep secrets and he's used to relying on himself because he's always waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is a Blaine who went through school on an escalator program, who never bothered coming out. This is a Blaine who's kind, gregarious, and generally good-hearted, but regardless is pretty used to getting what he wants without having to work too hard.

The point of this story is not to focus on the views of society aside from what's directly relevant to the plot, whether revolving around the fact that either of these boys are gay or that Kurt's not entirely organic, but the evolution of their own relationship and the way they each change from meeting one another and how they see one another.

It's about growth and understanding and empathy as people.

Tl;dr: no one is getting beaten/raped/left in an alley/seriously hatecrime'd. Not the point of this story.

Thank you.

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: Fortissimo<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>I was wondering if you could show me how to use it. I need some serious help."<em>

_If that wasn't the last thing that Kurt was expecting him to ask, he wasn't sure what was._

For several seconds, the only thing Kurt could do was blink in surprise, eyeing Blaine. He certainly did look like he needed help; his eyes were ringed with dark circles and he had the frazzled look of someone who had reached the end of the line. Without stopping to think too hard, Kurt nodded, stepping forward.

"Yeah, I can. What is it that you don't understand?" he asked, and Blaine cringed.

"…all of it," he said finally, looking more than a little embarrassed, and Kurt couldn't figure out whether it was a matter of pride or a matter of asking _him_ specifically. He had few doubts that he could help somehow, he knew the program inside and out –literally- but the more he thought about it, the more concerned and, strangely, anxious he got. "If you're busy right now, I totally understand. But any help you can give me…" Blaine trailed off, embarrassment gone.

Now he just looked anxious, and Kurt tilted his head, lacing his hands behind his back.

"I was just about to finish up with a job," he said, words and tone matter of fact, "Let me put the last bits on it, and I can help you. It'll only take a few minutes more if you want to come inside and wait. Then I can show you on your laptop so you know how to use it yourself."

Blaine looked as if Kurt had just told him that he was the songwriting god come to answer his prayers.

"Oh my god. Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet," Kurt quipped, running a hand through his bangs and beckoning Blaine inside with the other, "You'll be cursing my existence by the end of the night."

Blaine followed him inside, once again struck by the bright colors on the walls and the fact that it looked much more like a functional home than it should have, being occupied by a lone teenage boy. Hell, _Blaine's_ apartment wasn't that nicely put together, and he had three years on Kurt and a pretty decent penchant for decorating, considering that Wes considered decorating buying a framed painting of an (ugly) heron and hanging it up.

Kurt had his laptop set up on the coffee table and without preamble he sat down, focusing almost immediately on the screen. Blaine looked around the room blankly, finally settling himself on the couch, before giving into his curiosity and peering over Kurt's shoulder to examine what he was doing.

…it was like Greek to him.

Kurt was typing coding into an open window without pause, seeming to know already what he needed to do and Blaine gaped at him. For nearly a minute, Kurt paid him no attention until he couldn't keep his focus on coding, sensing Blaine's eyes on him. The taller boy turned around and leveled a curious (and rather vexed) look of his own right back, furrowing his brows.

"What?"

"What are you _doing_?"

"I was hired to design and code a layout for someone," he answered shortly, "They went to my dad first but he doesn't handle the little stuff like that so he passes it all on to me. I get all the payment for it, so it's a pretty good deal for both of us."

"And that's going to look like something? Not just like… brackets and greater-than symbols?" Blaine wasn't going to lie, his experience with computers was surfing the internet and writing papers and the occasional inventory spreadsheet for work. He had friends who knew more of what they were doing but he'd never paid much attention to it. He never thought he'd _need_ to. Kurt shot him a look that said quite plainly, _please stop saying stupid things_.

"Of course it is. See?" With a few clicks and opening of another window, he pasted his coding into a different box and opened it up, revealing a web layout that was nearly complete, "That's what it will look like when it's done. Well, mostly. HTML is easy, you just have to speak the same language."

"You're not even double-checking to make sure it's doing what you want, though. How do you know what it's going to do?"

"I don't need to, but like I said… you've got to speak the language," Having a little more circuitry than most people helped with that. Slightly exasperated at this point, Kurt flapped a hand in an obvious plea for silence. The harder Blaine stared and the more he talked, the less he was able to concentrate, and it didn't just apply to bringing up a program in his head or checking his mail.

Thankfully, Blaine hushed up and he finished quickly, checking just once to make sure he hadn't messed up anywhere, before bringing out his phone and standing, walking into the kitchen. His voice was quiet, but Blaine could just barely make out the words as he made the call.

"Hello, Bruce Rank? Yes, I'm representing Burt Hummel of Carbon Corp. I just wanted to let you know that the layout you requested is finished and ready to go. I just sent the coding over in an e-mail a little bit ago. Yes, yes, oh no, it was no trouble at all. Thank you very much. Oh, you can write me a check or send it through paypal, it's about the same amount of trouble either way. Yes, thank you. I appreciate your business. Have a good day."

Kurt hung up and walked back into the room and Blaine tried to look nonchalant, as if he hadn't been listening. It didn't work.

"Your dad works for Carbon?" he asked, unable to hold back, and Kurt rolled his eyes, gathering his keys and slipping them into his shoulder bag.

"Yeah," the answer came reluctantly, "He's head of the cybernetics and bioengineering department. Now, you ready to go?"

Topic cut, burned, and shut down in one fell swoop. Blaine gave up the interrogation too and stood, shouldering his own bag.

Blaine's apartment was pretty much what could be expected from a twenty-one year old guy who lived by himself. He'd cleaned up…well, tried to clean up in the hopes that Kurt might consent to help him out but he hadn't vacuumed or anything and a tower of clutter covered what had been the kitchen table. He flinched. The contrast was way too obvious, and if he had been Kurt, he'd have probably turned around and walked out…

Except that Kurt wasn't.

He was standing in the middle of the living room, taking it all in with the curiosity of someone in an unfamiliar place, wondering what this home of Blaine's said about him. Walls aside (god, white walls were the worst), there were some rather nice paintings put up, mostly of landscapes, and a DVD rack next to the television was overflowing with boxes. If Kurt didn't know, he could swear that he saw a copy of _Pretty in Pink _and couldn't help smiling at it. Check one, good taste in movies. He looked out of place among the mess in his charcoal grey skinnies and knee-high riding style boots, scarf tied delicately about his neck but it didn't seem to matter.

Blaine probably would have run.

Suddenly, he looked down at himself and suppressed a sputter of shock. Oh, his top half looked pretty normal, just a simple button-up that he'd remembered to change into before leaving but…his bottom half. Oh god, his bottom half. He'd forgotten about that part, and ended up knocking on Kurt's door in the pair of pajama pants covered in pineapples.

He sat on Kurt's couch, in _pineapple pants._ He asked Kurt for help _in pineapple pants_. He could have died.

He looked up just in time to see Kurt smirking knowingly at him.

"What, you couldn't have said anything when you first noticed?" Blaine protested, cheeks coloring, and the younger boy waggled his finger at him, eyes crinkling up in the corners.

"I just figured you knew," he countered loftily, catching a scowl from Blaine.

"Lies."

"You betcha. But aren't you happy that I'm at least trying to make it less embarrassing for you?"

There was absolutely nothing that Blaine could say in response to that. Kurt shifted on his feet, still looking around, trying to peer inconspicuously into the kitchen. The very, very unused kitchen. Saying that he'd help was one thing, he was beginning to realize, but it was sinking in that he'd never actually shown anyone how to use the technology that came naturally to him. He'd never needed to show his father anything, and he knew better than to even let Finn breathe near his computer. He hadn't been kidding when he said that Blaine would probably hate him by the end of this.

Suddenly more self-conscious than he'd started (Blaine Anderson, self conscious. Wouldn't Wes and David laugh at him for that one?), Blaine bit his lip.

"I've, uh, got my system set up in my bedroom. We can do it out here if you want though…"

Kurt flushed.

"No, you don't need to move it all. We can just work in there, if there's enough space and it's…you know. Decent."

Blaine's bedroom matched the rest of the apartment: cluttered. In here, though, clutter didn't come from papers and books and newsprint, but crumpled up sheet music and pencils that looked like they'd been thrown so hard they'd broken. Kurt watched over it all with a sympathetic eye, taking his cue to sit in front of the laptop sitting on the bed.

Fortissimo was already open but blank, as if Blaine really did have no idea where to even start.

"Come over here," Kurt said, pulling up a floor cushion and setting the computer on his lap. Blaine complied, scooting next to him and peering closely at the screen.

"Teach me, sensei."

"So eager. I'll remember this later," Kurt snickered with an almost sadistic glee and Blaine felt a tendril of foreboding. He'd thought that with a computer master, it'd be all smooth sailing from there on out. Apparently not. "You've got to start at the very, very beginning. The very first thing you need to do is pick your range. See this area on the side, with the piano keys?" He gesture, and Blaine nodded, "You can choose to show the entire thing, or you can shorten it to a single octave or a custom range. If you click on any of them, it'll tell you the note." To demonstrate, he clicked on the high F, and the note rang out clearly through Blaine's bedroom. "Got me so far?"

"Yeah,"

"Good. Let's do something super, super basic. Like _Mary Had A Little Lamb_. You can also change your instrument. The keys on the side will stay the same, but they'll sound differently like whatever you pick. We can do that later. Obviously. Up here it shows the length of your measures, and you can input your time signature right here in this box. You…are familiar with music theory, yes?"

The ominous feeling got worse.

"Yes, thank god." And he was. "I'd have given up forever ago if I wasn't."

Kurt smiled again, the playful one that didn't show teeth.

"Very good. Let's go practical, shall we? Ma-ry had a Li-ttle lamb~" he sang casually, shifting the computer over to Blaine, too quickly for him to realize that even singing a nursery rhyme, Kurt's voice was bright, pure, and clear as crystal. "First, find your first pitch—that's right, very good. Select it on the measure. Just click. You'll get a box asking what you want the note itself to be. Half note works. You can do keystrokes too to make it go faster, but let's stick simple. Now, type in the word the note corresponds to, right above it."

Blaine obliged.

"Press play, right here."

He did, and the note played, simple and clear and _oh my god it sounded like it was supposed to_. Maybe this wasn't going to be impossible.

"Very good. Now, the next note. Find your 'ry'…"

* * *

><p>Kurt had been right.<p>

It had taken three hours, _three hours_ for Blaine to input _Mary Had a Little Lamb _into the program, then he'd spent another hour figuring out how to work with the violin setting and realizing that vibrato couldn't be set where there wasn't a note, and he felt so stupid for that. Four hours it took to be walked through a nursery rhyme.

Kurt had lost the battle with frustration once or twice and had resorted to snarling out his demands, which led to Blaine inputing swear words instead of lyrics into the measures for a good long while in retaliation. Once, Kurt flopped backwards and slapped his hands over his face, half rolling around in agony. Twice, Blaine walked out of the room and came back with microwave popcorn and melted butter.

Both of their tempers had sweetened after that.

Blaine pressed play and the melody of _Mary Had a Little Lamb_ had never sounded sweeter. A bright smile slowly began to curl at his lips and he turned his head to look at Kurt, who was beginning to beam at him. Tiredly, Blaine let himself fall back onto his carpeting, sighing. Kurt shifted slightly to lean over him just the slightest bit, raising a single eyebrow at him.

"Good job, grasshopper."

Tentative and slow, _so_ slowly, the chestnut-haired boy reached out a hand and patted Blaine right on the top of his tight, black curls. His heart pounded loudly in his head, and he gulped when Blaine opened his eyes at the touch, blinking in surprise before smiling again.

"What had you done before now?" Kurt asked lightly, and Blaine rolled his eyes skyward, still not moving from his position on his back.

"Oh, you know. I got frustrated and started grunting like an ape, threw a few rolls of toilet paper around the room, may or may not have gotten married to David on Facebook then divorced him five minutes later. The usual."

That was not what Kurt did when he got frustrated. He tended to roll around on the floor and marry Mercedes and Santana on Facebook and go over his budget on clothes and try and make Finn dress like he had eyes and knew the color wheel.

"First stop, nursery rhymes. You'll have your own songs playing out of this baby before you know it."

"If I ever write anything that doesn't suck."

Kurt glared.

"Oh, put up or shut up. You're only allowed to complain if you man up and show me what you've written. Which, I might add, you've slithered out of so far."

Somehow, Blaine didn't think that _Loneliness and Ramen_ was going to endear himself to his younger neighbor.

"….nrgh," was his only response. Kurt shot him a half-smile.

"Why don't you sing something with me, then? Something you already know," he offered, almost shyly. "I'm sure you can, your voice is suited for it." Against his will, he flushed again and tried to force it down, looking Blaine in the eye. He'd gotten through public high school with goddamned sexual predator Karofsky making beep-beep-boop computer noises at him mixed in with his usual homophobic insults the entire last semester, he could ask a guy who was setting his gaydar on fire to sing with him. _Be a man, Kurt_, he thought. _You've beaten everyone else. You can beat this too._

Blaine, unaware of Kurt's mental pep talk, merely blinked curiously and sat up, scratching the back of his head with a hand.

"R-really? I mean, I _was_ the lead soloist at my high school," he couldn't help preening just a little bit at the amused admiration that flashed in Kurt's eyes, "So I don't suck."

"So you will?" Kurt prodded. Blaine tilted his head down and grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, okay. You pick."

Kurt thought for a bit, before a teasing light lit up his eyes.

"Little bird, little bird, fly through my window," he sang quietly, voice soaring easily, and Blaine suppressed the laugh that almost burst free of his throat. Blaine knew that song intimately from his nursery school days and he wondered if Kurt had chosen it to be ironic. Nevertheless, he grabbed his guitar and began to song along with Kurt, fitting his voice in with the other boy's to make an easy harmony that reminded him of when he was still in high school, singing just because he could. "Little bird, little bird, fly through my window, fine molasses candy..."

"Chickadee, chickadee, fly through my window," Blaine crooned, still trying not to laugh when Kurt paused long enough to make little 'chick chick chick' noises under his breath, "Chickadee, chickadee, fly through my window, fine molasses candy…"

Kurt had just opened his mouth to start to say 'jaybird' when there was a knock on the door and they both froze.

The knock came again and Blaine reluctantly got up to answer it.

"I guess I should go get that…"

"I suppose I'd better go anyway," Kurt said reluctantly, disappointed that the song got cut short, "We got plenty done tonight, though. If you need help again…" he trailed off, hoping that Blaine would understand what he meant, and he was rewarded by a nod.

"Oh, I have no doubt that I'll need your help again. One nursery rhyme does not an expert make."

Another knock, much more insistent this time, and Blaine huffed, striding over to the door and flinging it open, coming face to face with Wes and David.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here? You should have called—"

"We did. Twice."

Sure enough, Blaine's phone was sitting on the counter right where he'd left it, ignored and untouched for the last four hours. The screen was lit up and flashing, showing a missed call. Blaine winced and clapped his hands together apologetically.

"God, I'm sorry."

David was the one to roll his eyes this time.

"You've been such a flake lately, man—" he trailed off, catching sight of Kurt for the first time. The younger boy had followed Blaine out of his room to make his way out but had begun to hug the wall when the conversation had begun, as if he'd hoped to remain unnoticed. He addressed him suddenly, voice kind, "Oh, hey. You're Kurt, aren't you?" A look of surprise and wariness flashed over Kurt's face as he glanced to Blaine, then back to David.

"That would be me, yes," he said in a sudden rush, twisting his hands over the strap of his messenger bag. "Very nice to meet you. I've got to go. I'll see you later, Blaine."

And then he was gone like a very small, computer-savvy whirlwind with great hair.

The three men in the room blinked, Wes and David in curiosity, Blaine in outright confusion.

"That was a little…um, odd," Wes said delicately, apparently trying to be tactful for the first time in his life, "He normally that shy?"

"Nooooo, not usually. He's usually pretty sociable. Real witty. With me, anyway."

Not that meant much, he knew.

"Huh."

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><p>Kurt closed the door and locked it, leaning up against it to slide down to the floor, relieved to be back and surrounded by the colors of home.<p>

He hadn't meant to react the way he had but it'd been his first instinct. He wasn't used to people seeing him without him having to scream most of the time, much less having someone he'd never met recognize him and know his name, and it had thrown him for a loop. Enough of a loop apparently that in retrospect he'd probably come off as some sort of utter weirdo.

Suddenly annoyed with himself, Kurt fought the urge to stick his head out and shout an apology in the direction of next door. That'd probably make him look like even _more_ of a weirdo.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the solid weight of his door, closing his eyes.

Kurt wondered what Blaine had told them about him.

The prospect scared him a little more than he wanted it to.

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><p>AN2: Enjoy chapter four! As always, if you enjoyed it, please comment and let me know! If you didn't, well, tell me that too. Trust me, I'm graceful with criticism.<p> 


	5. Battery

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance. If I owned, I would be much richer than I am.<p>

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><p>AN: You guys are amazing and wonderful and beautiful people.<p>

I'm going to be honest, when I first started writing this, I had no idea if anyone but me was actually going to be remotely interested in it. Thank you so much for your encouragement and support and praise. They really do help motivate me to not only write, but write better.

Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>Chapter Five: Battery<p>

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><p>Kurt jolted awake, his heart pounding wildly, and he stared around his bedroom in slight disorientation. His vision swam from sleep despite the intensity of his dream and he forced himself to lay back down, nestling himself into his pillows and throwing his blanket over his head.<p>

He remembered.

Kurt remembered vividly the feeling of being _held_ and _understood_ and _loved._

He remembered black curls and warm hazel eyes and callused hands, finger pads slightly roughened.

He remembered feeling safe and like he had nothing to hide, like he could trust that boy enough to wrap him around him like he did his blanket.

Drawing in a breath, Kurt rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, stifling a groan.

…_shit._

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><p>Contrary to popular (Read: Wes and his own, treacherous little sister Natalie) belief, Blaine actually did go to his day job. He may have spent the vast majority of the day with a daydreaming, kind of vacant expression -because who didn't get a little hazy whiling their hours away in a record store?- or listening to the new stock and wondering when it became more popular to sing into a vocorder than it was to just make sure that you didn't suck, but he did go.<p>

He ran the cash register and chatted up girls to get them to buy more. He slipped his headphones on when he was sure that no one would know or care. He occasionally traded elitist stares with hipsters whose skinny jeans had nothing on Kurt's.

What Blaine liked doing most at his job though, was people-watching. People were interesting. Not to the level that his friends were interesting, but interesting enough, and Blaine might admit under extreme duress that he occasionally made up stories in his head about customers; where they came from, where they were going, who was getting that teeny bopper CD because there really was nothing good in the world anymore.

A relatively absent boss with a broken give-a-damn made for low impact work, but the hours were long and Blaine thought that he really might be just a little bit crazy at this point.

What a waste of a degree.

Blaine ran a hand through his hair and leaned on the counter. The store was empty except for a middle-aged woman floundering helplessly amongst minidisc upon minidisc of white rap. Until she asked for assistance, she could just suffer.

The door swung open and Blaine peered over to see who had entered.

Two young guys entered, one of whom was, to Blaine's intense surprise, Kurt's stepbrother Finn. He was accompanied by a bulky guy with a mohawk and a t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest and… holy shit, those guns. They didn't appear to notice him and Blaine almost called attention to himself, instead remaining silent when he picked up the topic of their conversation.

"Hey, how's Kurt been doing, lately?" Mohawk-boy asked, nudging Finn with his elbow as they browsed through the racks of minidiscs and vintage CDs. "I haven't really seen much of him since we graduated. I knew he was kind of…._you know_, about not getting into any schools."

"The word you're looking for is enraged," Finn muttered dryly, "Actually, I'm still not sure whether he's more angry or hurt about it. You know he couldn't speak to me for weeks without crying after I got into college and he didn't?"

Blaine blinked. The topic of schooling had never come up between them in the months since Kurt had moved in; Kurt never asked about Blaine and Blaine never asked about Kurt's post-high school plans. He'd assumed that he was either A) going to school and didn't care enough to talk about it or B) was just taking a year off. The idea that the younger boy hadn't gotten in anywhere honestly hadn't occurred to him, especially after he'd seen Kurt's proficiency with a computer and the general impression of intelligence that he gave off. Mohawk obviously agreed with Blaine's thoughts, as he glared and cracked his knuckles threateningly.

"And no one on the boards told him why he got rejected? Kurt had a higher GPA than fucking _Berry—_"

"Hey!"

"There was no reason not to let him in. Especially since he was going into music and it's not every day you find a voice like that."

Remembering the way that Kurt's voice had made a children's song sound halfway holy, Blaine was inclined to agree. Wasn't _that_ the truth.

Finn scowled and looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Man, I don't know. He showed up the other night freaking out over something; Mom had to sit him down and force hot chocolate on him. I seriously think she slipped some Kahlua into it and told him it was leftover coffee from that morning. All she could really get out of him was that it had to do with a guy."

"Holy shit, is he getting some? Way to go, Princess." Mohawk sounded impressed and oddly pleased with this.

Blaine nearly choked, sinking down lower in his seat until he just barely peered over the edge despite the fact that both boys were now invisible behind a rack. At least this proved that his gaydar still worked.

"Dude, Puck, shut up! That's my little brother you're talking about. You don't need to scream it out to the whole store. I don't want to talk about him _getting _anything. I don't want to gossip about Kurt getting anything from anyone _with_ anyone, but especially not with you. Why are you so happy and excited about it anyway?" Finn sounded scandalized but not in the way that would imply that Kurt's –fairly obvious, if Blaine had to be honest- homosexuality freaked him out. If anything, he sounded quite normal for someone whose conversation topic had apparently just turned to his brother's guy troubles.

"Hey man, Puckzilla approves of anyone getting down and dirty. Who cares if it's with another dude? Props to Princess."

"_Shut up Puck, _he is my brother and I have to _talk to him_ tonight and if I can't look him in the eyes, he'll know. He always knows."

'Puck' sputtered with laughter, and Blaine kind of wished that there was a way for him to quit unwillingly eavesdropping. He was a watcher, not a snoop. But could it really be considered eavesdropping when they were talking openly in public and hadn't even noticed his existence? Not to mention that it was, despite being none of his business, a rather fascinating insight into Kurt Hummel: personal information lockbox extraordinaire.

"I could kill Karofsky for fucking with him." Puck's voice had gone low and suddenly murderous, "I really could."

The absently amused smile that had begun to show on Blaine's face abruptly slipped off.

He now knew several new things about Kurt, none of which could be used as conversation starters.

1) He'd gotten rejected from all the schools he'd applied to for what appeared to be no reason. 2) He had Finn completely whipped and at his mercy. 3) Someone named Karofsky had 'fucked' with him badly enough to get someone built essentially like a tank to sound like he could easily rip his head off with no moral qualms.

This was not an upgrade.

The conversation quieted and Blaine tried to quit thinking about it to little avail. Whoever coined the phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' was a horrible, sadistic liar. The two boys left soon after, not even sparing a passing glance to Blaine –thank god, because wouldn't that just be awkward?- and the curly-haired man spent the rest of his shift trying to consciously pay attention to his work place.

If only to stop thinking about what could make a college board turn down someone like Kurt Hummel.

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><p>"I don't know what to do," Kurt bemoaned into his headset, "I really don't. This is a terrible situation."<p>

The girl on the other end clucked sympathetically at him.

"_I wish I could help you,"_ Quinn told him, _"But we all know _my_ romantic history. Puck, Finn, and Sam: pregnant, dumped for a hobbit, and dumped for a lesbian. I am not qualified for this. You're sure he's gay at least, right?"_

"Oh, most definitely," Kurt said firmly, "We haven't talked about it, but I'm almost positive. Bisexual at the least. I don't know whether he's out to his family or friends if I'm right, but until he tells me or shows me, it's a null deal. I refuse to get myself into another Finn situation, thank you. Sexuality is really only half the issue anyway."

"_Do you think he would care? About, you know." _Quinn asked delicately, and Kurt groaned. He could almost see her, laying on her stomach on the bedspread she'd had for years, twirling the vintage cord of her phone around a finger. Most people favored a headset these days, but Quinn was an old-fashioned sort from her head to her toes. He appreciated her sensitivity on the matter; it was more than he could have asked for from any of his other girlfriends. Mercedes was known for tough love and while nowhere near above cuddling and sympathy, no one did commiseration quite like Miss Quinn Fabray.

Kurt and Quinn had both been Cheerios. They _knew_ commiseration.

"I don't know, Q. How could he not? Everyone else who ever knew did—sorry, minus you guys. And Coach, though god only knows why," Kurt sighed deeply, rolling over to stare at his ceiling. "It's not like… I just don't understand. It's not like there's never been anyone else like me in the world; using cybernetics to save someone's life isn't unheard of."

"_Yeah, but Kurt…" _She paused as if trying to find the right words, _"Most of the time, that's like an arm or a leg. Even then, most people are going to go their whole lives without meeting someone who's been in that kind of situation. It's not your fault and you can't help it, but you can't escape the fact that it's unusual. Your _entire_ skeletal system, Kurt, and a part of your brain, that's intense and a lot of people are going to misunderstand."_

Kurt flinched.

"Quinn… a team of reviewers from _eight_ colleges thought that I wasn't worth having. Or a liability. Eight colleges think that I'm going to cheat my way through because my father couldn't let me die," the chestnut-haired boy snapped, rolling off the bed and beginning to pace up and down the length of his bedroom. Just thinking about it was making him angry again, giving him that too-sharp thinking and something sick-feeling to curl up in the pit of his stomach. "It's like they're saying that I don't deserve to be alive. I'm not whining, but I've never seen a normal doctor in my life, it's always been someone from my dad's team at Carbon. It's like being born with black hair and being told that that's wrong. Or that curly hair is the prettiest and if I have curly hair, I'm going to have an advantage. I can't help it but there's nothing I can do, so I just keep dyeing and straightening over and over again to keep it a secret."

Quinn was silent for a long while and Kurt stilled.

"_So…what are you going to do about Blaine? And what do you want to do?"_

Good old Quinn. That girl had a good brain; she knew full well that what one wanted and what one would do were often different.

"I don't know. And I don't know. There are two ways it could go if I man up and tell him: he can either totally reject me and everything I am and I can handle that; or… he'll find out and start treating me like a computer. Finn's gotten better but he still does sometimes, and he's practically family now."

"_Kurt… you do realize that neither of the scenarios you mentioned end up with you being happy in the slightest?"_

"I'm aware. That's because there's no option that ends with me being happy. Not in this," Kurt's voice was low and over the line, the blonde girl made a choked, strangled noise that could have been a gasp or the threatening of a sob. "I could lie to him, but that's not even on my radar. If I'm going to be honest, I'm going to be _honest_. No two ways."

"_So you'll just… leave it?"_

"Yes," the boy replied, "I'm fully capable of being friends with a boy I'm attracted to; I'm not fifteen anymore. Having a friend is better than having a boyfriend anyway."

That was _definitely_ a sob that came through the line, and Kurt changed the subject.

"I heard you emailed the girls you're going to be dorming with in the fall. Did you get a response?" He could see her now, eyes rimmed with red and color high in her cheeks because he'd seen Quinn Fabray cry more times than he'd liked and knew exactly how she looked when she did. Unlike him, she was lucky enough to be a pretty crier.

A sniff.

"_Y-yeah, I did. They seem like they're going to be nice…_"

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><p>This had to be the stupidest idea that Blaine had ever had in his life. Really. Stupider than majoring in musical theatre, stupider than his spontaneous performances in the middle of the common rooms at Dalton years ago. Hell, it was even stupider than letting Natalie puppy dog eye him into discussing boys with her.<p>

In one hand, Blaine held a grocery bag filled with the ingredients to make the one thing he trusted himself to make without screwing up. In the other, he clutched a short stack of wrinkled sheet music, crumpled and smoothed and recrumpled so many times that there was really no hope for them at all at this point. His guitar was slung around his shoulder, resting behind him to sit solidly on his hip.

Oh god.

Blaine knocked and waited nervously. A few moments later, the door flew open and Kurt was staring wide-eyed at him. His hair was left unstyled –good lord it was cute like that- and he was dressed more casually than Blaine was used to.

"Hi, Blaine. What's…what's up?" he asked curiously, staring first at Blaine's grocery bag then the paper in his hand. Blaine smiled sheepishly.

"I thought I might pay you back for that dinner from forever ago," he began, confidence belying the strange mix of nerves and anticipation he was feeling at the moment, "It's not fancy, but it always seems to get good reviews. And I thought…I might show you some of the songs I've written. They suck of course, but I thought—" He cut off as Kurt reached forward, taking him by the wrist and tugging him inside.

"I'd love to hear them," the younger boy said softly, "Even if they suck."

"Aren't you full of confidence and encouragement," Blaine muttered good-naturedly, "Do I have permission to use the royal kitchen, Your Highness?"

Smiling in surprise, Kurt sunk down in a bow reminiscent of a ruler directing his peons.

"You may," he replied loftily, following Blaine into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were clustered around Kurt's coffee table, munching on stir fried chicken and vegetables.

"And you said you couldn't cook," Kurt accused, glaring mildly. Blaine shrugged and held up his hands in surrender.

"Yeah, if you consider being able to make one thing being able to cook," Blaine retorted, and Kurt flicked a snow pea at him.

"Still, false advertising."

Blaine flicked the pea back at him and for a few brief seconds, Kurt stared at it as if it held the secrets to the universe. Then, he shrugged mildly and picked it up, popping it into his mouth.

"Whatever, table's clean," he muttered, setting his empty plate to the side. "Soooo…these songs of yours."

Blaine squirmed and fidgeted, biting at his lip. Finally, he handed over the sheets.

"They really, really do suck. And uh, none of them are new or anything, so they're even crappier and uh…"

He trailed off as Kurt stilled, the quip on the tip of his tongue freezing and sliding right back where it came from. He stared silently at the title of the first song.

_I'm Gay and Won't Tell My Father_.

"B-Blaine…?" he asked lowly, unsure as to what exactly he meant by the question. The older boy wouldn't look at him, staring so intently at his plate that Kurt thought he might break it with his eyes. He looked _terrified_ and Kurt wanted to say something, anything to take the fear away. If there was anything he could say or do to make it go away, Kurt wanted those words. "Me too!" He said in a rush, "I mean, not about the father part. But… me too. It's okay, Blaine. It's okay."

Kurt had never seen such potent relief in anyone in his entire life. The second the words were out of his mouth, Blaine relaxed and let out a breath so deep that it could probably be felt across town, sagging forward to bury his face in his hands. Kurt fought the urge to lean over and hug him.

"Oh my god," Blaine was murmuring under his breath, "Oh my god."

Abruptly, Kurt lost his battle with that urge and within seconds had wrapped his arms around the other boy, tugging him close. Blaine dug his hands into the fabric at Kurt's hips, burying his face in his shoulder. His entire frame was shuddering, and Kurt thought that if he let him go, he'd literally fall apart right there.

"It's alright, it's alright. I've got you. Had you never told anyone?" Kurt asked quietly, tone low and soft and soothing. One arm looped around Blaine's shoulders but the other was stroking his head.

"Everyone w-w-who ever knew guessed. Wes, David, my sisters. I've never…never actually told anyone before. Never told."

"You're very brave," Kurt murmured, "It's so hard to do. Thank you for telling me."

Blaine didn't reply but his grip on Kurt tightened, and the side of the younger boy's mouth tilted up in a tiny smile.

"I knew when I was thirteen," he began to sing, staring intently at the sheet of paper that he'd dropped on the table. His voice stumbled and flubbed the inexpert melody but he read on, "But I could never tell you. I'm gay, I'm gay, but I could never tell you. I'm gay but I won't tell my father."

Blaine stiffened.

"I'd tell the pope before you. I'd tell the mailman before you. I'd tell the King and Queen and all the birds in the world before you. I'm gay but I won't tell my father."

"….god, that song sucks," Blaine finally muttered from somewhere around Kurt's torso, startling a surprised laugh out of him.

"Maybe a little."

"Little, nothing."

"Okay, maybe a lot," Kurt amended, still idly petting those black curls, "But everyone's got to start somewhere. I think you've already gotten somewhere important."

"What's that? Realizing how much you blow?"

"No, not at all. I was thinking of the fact that even though your lyrics are kind of bad and your melodies need…um, intense work, you've already gotten what a lot of people never do. You've written something honest that hits you right where it hurts."

Blaine wanted to laugh. He really, really wanted to laugh, because it was funny and the words made something warm curl up inside him and purr.

Instead, he clutched Kurt tighter and cried.

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><p>AN: And here's chapter five! I hope you enjoyed! As usual, please review if you liked this, or even if you hated it. Though if you hated it, I'd be extremely surprised that you made it all the way to chapter five.<p> 


	6. Cloudburst

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance. If I owned, I would be much richer than I am.<p>

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><p>AN: Oh my god, you guys. Thank you so, so much for all of your comments and alerts and favorites. I really don't know what to say other than thank you, I'm so grateful. I've gotten a lot of comments from people saying that they were reluctant to read this at first and that they're happy that they did; this is really the most potent praise an author can receive, and I'm totally over the moon that I've had that sort of impact.<p>

So many of you have reviewed more than once and I absolutely notice and ASDFGHJKL; I WANT TO HUG YOU ALL LIKE YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

A special shout-out to Number1KurtHummelFan, who reviewed almost every chapter in one sitting! I know that you were one of the people who weren't initially going to read this, and it makes me happier than anything that I was able to change your mind.

If you thought the last chapter was a little deep and heady, this one's a little more so.

Also, I really, really, REALLY dislike Karofsky. If you like him, please don't take my depiction personally. He will not be playing a major part in this story, so this chapter will likely be his only appearance.

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><p>Chapter Six: Cloudburst<p>

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><p>Kurt was floating. <em>Floating<em>. He hadn't felt this light and bubbly since… well, he didn't know if he'd ever felt this intensely floaty in his entire life.

Seeing Blaine cry had broken his heart in almost every sense of the word. It had taken all he had, holding him tightly as if that alone would keep him from breaking, to keep from crying himself. Kurt thought that he knew how it felt.

He'd always known that his father had loved him, but he knew that liking boys was considered wrong. The very thought of being rejected by the one person who meant so much to him was crippling and froze him cold with absolute fear. He knew that _he_ wasn't Blaine's father – thank everything for that, that'd just be weird- but the reaction was similar.

That Kurt meant enough to inspire such trepidation… it was sad to think about, but a little, tiny part of him unattached to emotional morals quivered a little with happiness.

He meant enough to Blaine for Blaine to tell him something he'd never told anyone.

Kurt could have exploded from the pride and admiration he'd felt for the other boy.

When Blaine had calmed down a little and his brain had caught up with his body, he'd seemed a little embarrassed at his reactions. Kurt had brushed it off because that was what he needed, and for the next while, they kept things light, caterwauling _Loneliness and Ramen_ and _All My Friends Are Dicks_. When Blaine opened the front door to head back to his own apartment, Kurt had reached out a hand to pat his shoulder (Platonically! Platonically, he swore!), only to be yanked into another quick, impromptu hug before he was alone again.

The air was warm; it was August after all.

Absently, Kurt flexed his fingers, staring back inside his apartment for a few moments. Finally, he closed the door behind him and locked it, tossing his keys from hand to hand. A quick touch to his pocket assured him that he had his phone. Experimentally, he stretched, feeling the fabric around his legs stretch and move with him easily, the one advantage of wearing a looser set of pants that day. Kurt tapped his boots on the floor.

They were old and worn, but the soles were still strong and he wouldn't have to worry about them getting scuffed. He wouldn't be running too far anyway.

A breath ran through him like a fresh breeze and then Kurt Hummel had taken off, breaking into a run about halfway down the stairs, bolting out of the building, running until he'd worn off the extra energy and all he felt was exhilaration.

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><p>"Oh my god, you guys, I'm so screwed," Blaine bemoaned over his Jameson and ginger ale. He'd been sipping on it for the last half hour and it was only a third gone.<p>

"You bet you are," David quipped, clapping him on the back, "You're drinking like you actually have some class. I thought for sure you'd be going for a beer or something."

"Beer is gross," Blaine muttered.

"Never stopped you before," David replied, taking a sip of his White Russian, "Need I remind you of your twenty-first birthday party?"

"Please don't, my head still hurts thinking about it."

"So, what exactly is the big deal?" Wes asked from Blaine's other side. All three of them were seated on stools at the part of the bar that no one really liked to sit, "When you texted me with 'Hey guys, it's Friday. Let's go out and get a drink!", I wasn't expecting a heart to heart. So you told him. Big whoop. Not that I'm not proud of you because I've thought that you've needed to tell someone for a good long time, but I fail to see the problem. You're gay, he's gay, and now you can be gay friends."

"Not big whoop, you jackass!" Blaine glared.

"Unless he wants to be _more_ than gay friends and that's why he's all freaked out,"

Sometimes, Blaine really hated David. Wes was snide and kind of grumpy but he tended to avoid topics that made Blaine feel worse. David was calm and mellow and laid-back but seemed to make it his life's mission to dig into Blaine's soft spots with a kind, considerate stick.

"_Do_ you want to be more than gay friends?"

"I don't _know_," No, Blaine was not whining. He didn't whine. He only wined, and even then that was only when he wanted to make an impression. "I mean, he's great. And…you know, I trusted him enough to tell him I was gay and all that."

David raised an eyebrow, demanding further explanation. He knew Blaine, and knew that Blaine's flippant 'and all that' meant quite a bit. The curly-haired man sighed and took another sip of his drink.

"Like I said, he's just…he's just awesome. He's smart and hysterically funny and really, really attractive. He's stable, and he can cook and he's really got his shit together, and for some reason he actually seems to like me."

"Go for it, then," David suggested, "He likes you, you very obviously like him. He made a run for it when we met, but he can clearly keep you in line. _And_, bonus points, he's gay. So go for it."

Blaine groaned again, dropping his head to the table with a loud thunk.

"So, so, so screwed."

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><p><strong>So, how's this for a song title? My Kitchen Has Ants Again. –B<strong>

**What? Blaine, no. That sucks. Also, get some bug spray and quit leaving pancake plates out. –K**

**Don't judge, you love pancakes. –B**

**Yes, and isn't it magical? I can eat pancakes and not have ants. Gasp. –K**

**Don't be a hater. Maybe I should get an ant farm and keep them as pets. –B**

…**do not go anywhere, oh my god. I will be over in thirty seconds, bringing Armageddon with me. Do. Not. Move. (Haters gon' hate.)-K**

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><p>"What the hell do you want?" Kurt snarled, grip tightening on the handles of his grocery bags. He'd hoped to never see Karofsky again in his life, much less in front of his apartment a month after the Fall semester had begun. "I don't know how you found this place, but I want you out. Now."<p>

"What's your problem, Hummel?" the bulky guy asked, and approached. Kurt tried his damndest to suppress his anxiety as he was loomed over. His hands were white-knuckled on his bags. "Got an issue with me standing in a public place, pretty boy? Think you're better? Maybe I should stick around, I bet you've got to get inside to recharge, huh? Plug yourself right into the wall, right?"

Show no fear. Show no fear. Show no fear.

Kurt was trembling and he wasn't sure whether it was from rage or something else.

"I told you. Get. Out. Get out right now and don't come back."

"What are you gonna do about it? Get Daddy and bring another lawsuit down on every decent human being who doesn't want your kind around?" Karofsky advanced closer but Kurt stood his ground, refusing to move even when a meaty hand came up and curled around his collar, threatening to yank.

"My _kind_? You are a bigot and you don't deserve the title of human," Kurt ground out, venom dripping with every word, "You are a closeted homophobe who's too fucking scared to not be a coward. You are a sexual predator who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no'. You made my life hell and guess what? I won."

The threat on his collar became a promise but instead of taking it like he used to, too scared to give himself away, Kurt resisted.

Delicate porcelain hands came up, dropped their groceries, and grasped Karofsky around the wrists and squeezed so tightly that he could feel bones shift under his grip.

"S-s-shit, Hummel, let me go!"

"Don't like it when it's you who's forced into a corner, do you?" The shorter boy hissed, walking forward and forcing Karofsky back, "It's not much fun, is it? I wonder, if you keep saying no, will I stop and let you go? You didn't. How good of a person am I? How good of a _human_? It's a good question, isn't it? You assaulted me, threatened me, and hurt me, and then you turned right around and told everyone you could that I was dangerous?" Kurt forced his voice to lighten, the words sick and poisonous, and his stomach roiled. He wouldn't be getting through the day without saying goodbye to his lunch, he knew. He squeezed harder. "Surely, you're doomed. A big, dangerous, robot like me?" He tsked. "The way I see it is that if I'm exactly as you say, you're definitely doomed."

"Fuck, let go!"

"You still didn't give me an answer, Dave Karofsky. Do you think I'll stop? I want an answer. How good of a person do you think I am?"

Kurt couldn't make himself breathe. His heart was racing and his head was light but he didn't give in.

"Y-y-you'll stop," the larger boy finally hissed, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks from the pain in his wrists, "Please, stop. Let me go."

"You're right," Kurt said, loosening his grip and releasing slowly. "You're right, I will. Because I'm better. I'm human just like you, and if you don't get down those stairs this very second, I'll be helping you down them and your parents will be getting a nice apology a few days from now from Carbon Corp. You set foot back here again? You send me anything threatening? You blab to anyone else where it's not your business or theirs? It won't be just my father knocking down your door this time."

Karofsky scrambled away from him and bolted down the stairs.

"You hurt me first, Dave Karofsky. Don't ever come back here."

And then Kurt was alone. Almost immediately, he began to tremble. Leaning down, he tried to pick up the bags he'd dropped but his hands were shaking too badly to get a grip on them. His stomach was churning and his breaths came through shallow and erratic.

"Shit, shit, shit," he hissed, stopping for the time being and sagging against the wall, dropping his face into his palms. Half-panicked, he brought up his antivirus in the hopes that a scan might help calm him down.

"Kurt? Who was that dude who just came flying down the- whoa, are you okay?"

Kurt froze as if the world had turned to ice, terminating the program.

Blaine was staring around the corner at him, eyes wide with curiosity and concern. Kurt lurched to his feet and frantically tried to gather his bags again. His hands still wouldn't cooperate though, and he couldn't breathe again and any second now he was going to start crying and _shit_ he didn't want this. He fumbled with his keys and couldn't even separate the correct one from its fellows.

"Whoa, whoa, easy."

And suddenly there was a presence next to him.

Blaine knelt down and stopped Kurt's jerky movements, covering his hands in his and squeezing firmly.

"I don't know what's up, but calm down. It's gonna be okay. Give me your key, I'll open the door for you. Your bags too, I'll get them. Just relax, it's gonna be okay."

Blaine took his keys from Kurt's unresisting hands and unlocked the door with an easy click, scooping up his bags. The second the door was open, Kurt had taken off like a shot, gravitating toward his bathroom like a homing beacon to throw his head over the toilet bowl, expelling everything he'd eaten that day.

Unexpectedly, warm hands were smoothing his bangs away from his face and the tears chose that moment to come, slipping down his cheeks and down his nose and for a good while, all Kurt could do was kneel in front of the toilet, gripping it tightly to hold himself up, sobbing as if his heart would break. He was crying about goddamned Karofsky and how he'd almost gotten over everything from the last half year. He was crying over not getting in to college. He was crying over how his wonderful next door neighbor on whom he had a massive attraction was being so kind to him, and how he'd never tell him how he felt.

He didn't remember Blaine asking if there was anyone Kurt needed him to call and he didn't know when he finally lifted his head only to be handed a glass of water. He didn't remember Blaine running a cool wet washcloth over his face and a little bit later, a fluffy bath towel.

By the time Kurt could breathe and think and function like a normal human being again, he was huddled on his couch next to Blaine, who'd turned the TV on and slung an arm lightly over Kurt's shoulders. The curly-haired boy was focused on the screen and Kurt blinked slowly, tilting his head to accidentally brush his nose against the other boy's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered finally, voice low and just a little bit hoarse, "I don't know what I would have done."

"You were a bit of a mess, but you would have managed somehow," Blaine replied, "I just helped speed up the process."

He did more than that but Kurt remained quiet, trying to focus on the television show. It didn't work very well; his proximity to Blaine was making him hypersensitive to everything around him.

"Want to talk about what happened?" Blaine asked after a while, "It might make you feel better."

"I don't…really want to," Kurt said lowly and closed his eyes, "But that guy… he was from my high school. Karofsky. He was always kind of a dick, but last year it really came to a head, and it took the threat of a law suit from my father to get him to back off. I have no idea how he found out where I lived." He didn't mention what Karofsky had done or said or what he himself had done or said, instead choosing to nestle just a tiny bit closer closer, as if Blaine's warmth was some sort of magnetic pull.

He missed the brief flash of comprehension in Blaine's eyes.

"Did he…?"

"No," Kurt assured, "I told him off and sent him packing. If he shows up again, he's too stupid to live."

Blaine gulped briefly, as if mentally debating what he wanted to say next.

"Is he…dangerous?" That could be taken in more than one way and Blaine meant all of them. Any of them. Any of the ways that mattered, which basically added up to wanting to know whether Karofsky was someone who could be considered dangerous to Kurt or to Blaine himself. Kurt considered this before shaking his head, changing his mind and nodding, then shaking his head again.

"If you'd asked me a few weeks ago, I'd have said no. But after this…kind of yes. But I really don't think he'll have the balls to come back, so no. At any rate, _you'd_ be okay."

That wasn't all that Blaine meant but he let it go. He leaned a little and tugged Kurt the rest of the way. The younger boy had been close but not close enough to be comfortable, hovering between pulling away and full-on leaning; Blaine decided to make the decision and if Kurt pulled away, well…

But he wasn't.

He was still and quiet but less tense. Eventually, Kurt gave into the temptation that was Blaine's hand drawing idle circles on his upper arm and sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut and letting all of the tension drain out of his frame to relax fully.

"I'm sorry for this," Kurt said softly, eyes still closed. "That you've got to deal with me like this."

"Last I checked, you suffered through singing three rounds of _All My Friends Are Dicks_ with me to make me feel better. This is _nothing_. Besides, I'm kind of a snuggler anyway."

"_All My Friends Are Dicks_ is funny at least," Kurt's voice was slightly breathy, as if he were almost about to fall asleep, "I think I might be a snuggler too. I just never really had anyone to do it with before, so I never really knew." He thought that if he could, he might stay like this forever. He felt Blaine's smile more than he saw it, because not even Kurt could see through his own eyelids.

"Snuggle away," Blaine informed him, a teasing lilt to his voice, "Use me, abuse me,"

"Sorry, Eurythmics already did that. You're a long time too late," Kurt countered, "Sweet dreams are made of this,"

"Who am I to disagree?" Blaine whispered, "I travel the world and the seven seas,"

"Everybody's looking for something…" Kurt opened his eyes, raising a single brow, "You do know your vintage pop music, don't you? Color me impressed."

"I'm pretty damn impressive," Blaine boasted jokingly, "Think I could write a song about how autotune has ruined the world?"

"I think you'd have better luck with _All My Friends Are Dicks_."

"What about—"

"Blaine."

"…yes?"

Kurt smiled.

"Shut up."

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><p>AN2: And thus ends chapter six! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave a comment telling me what you thought. I am also graceful with criticism, so feel free to doll that out as well.<p> 


	7. Breaking

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

Disclaimer: Ahahahaha, no.

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><p>AN: ASDFGHJKL; I am being spoiled by you guys. Thank you all for your reviews last chapter! Normally I reply to them, but there wasn't enough time in between chapters for me to really do so and not feel silly about it. So if you have any questions, I'll totally answer them if they're not directly related to the plotwill be important to the story.

Thank you again, and even if you don't review, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>Chapter Seven: Breaking<p>

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><p>The first day that it was cool enough for Kurt to go long-sleeved comfortably was the day that Blaine nearly burned down his own kitchen trying to bake his own birthday cake. The smoke alarm had gone off and black smoke had poured through the cracks in the door and Kurt was sure that people were smelling it blocks away, and the next thing Blaine knew, he was being scolded and kicked out of his kitchen at the same time.<p>

Kurt had been scared half out of his mind and blazingly angry (seriously, how hard was it to follow a box mix, for god's sake?) but he'd rolled up his sleeves anyway and told Blaine that _he_ was going to wait in the living room or anywhere else that wasn't the kitchen until he said he could come back in and god help him if he set foot in there sooner.

The theme that the rest of the night followed would be known forever as Blaine's 22nd Birthday Doomsday Happytime by anyone who wasn't named Kurt or Blaine. Kurt would disagree vehemently on that, but when a name stuck, it stuck.

An hour of swearing, sweating, and scraping char off of the one pan that could be used for cake later, Kurt had re-entered the living room, a short, two layer vanilla cake covered in white frosting in his hands. Blaine stared at it, dumbstruck.

"Hey, you didn't have to…"

"Hush," Kurt said matter-of-factly, sitting down and handing Blaine a plate, setting the cake on the coffee table. "Consider it making up for the fact that I had to find out when your birthday was by saving your kitchen from a fiery death."

"You could have asked," Blaine replied.

"And you could have told," The corner of Kurt's lips tiled up and he ran a knife through the cake, placing a piece on Blaine's plate first. The tiny smile grew wider and became something inexplicably sweet, "Happy Birthday, Blaine."

"Come out with me tonight!" Blaine blurted out, causing Kurt's jaw to fall open in shock. "Wes and David and a few other friends are throwing me a bash tonight. You should…you should come with me. I-if you want to. Everyone's real nice, and-"

The look on Kurt's face was considering and unsure but after a few moments he nodded, biting his lip.

"O…kay," he said delicately, "I can do this. Dress code?"

"Just yourself is fine."

Kurt glared.

"Seriously, wear whatever. I have to tell most of my friends to not wear sweatpants, you'll be more than fine. If you've gotta have guidelines…" Blaine trailed off, before smirking, "Wear something _fun_."

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise, before smiling in that way that made his eyes crinkle up playfully.

"You got it."

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><p>Blaine gaped and Kurt preened, standing out among the other patrons like a lorikeet in the pigeon pen.<p>

"Fun enough for you?" he asked loftily, watching as Blaine's eyes traveled from the red top hat perched upon his head to the perfectly matched sleeveless dress shirt in the same shade with black cravat, down further to the pitch black skinny jeans and red Doc Martens.

"Holy Mary…"

"I am going to take that as both a yes and a compliment," Kurt said, raising a hand to tap Blaine's jaw shut, "Flies are getting in, where do I sit?" Blaine would have said something but all he could think of was _holy hell did that boy know how to dress_ and then the theme from Jaws because Wes was totally creeping up behind Kurt, hands outstretched.

"Uh…"

Too late.

Wes draped himself over Kurt as if they'd known each other forever, the chestnut-haired boy yelping in surprise and making the instinctual attempt to squirm away.

"Hey there," the older guy crooned, and to Kurt's credit, he didn't stagger under his weight, "I didn't know you were coming tonight. Come, come, sit by me." He took Kurt by the wrist and pulled him over to where he'd been sitting with David, gesturing to a stool. Blaine followed, hoping that their friendship would survive the night intact.

"Do you always have your birthday party in a bar?" Kurt asked over his shoulder, sitting down on the offered stool and ordering a soda with some fruit syrup.

"It was kind of decided for me," Blaine replied, shoving David off the stool next to the taller boy so that he could sit down, "I forgot that you're underage, I'm sorry. Do you mind it?" He conveniently left out the fact that he'd had his share of drinks in college even when he had been underage. Kurt shrugged, shaking his head.

"No, it's fine. It's your birthday." He smiled, "Besides, I don't drink even if I was old enough. Bad experience a few years back, ending up ralfing on the guidance counselor's shoes and waxing poetic about how much a certain old movie made me sob. That was enough of an experience, really." Blaine snorted and peered into the glass his younger friend had just been handed. It was a bright, bright red, and he wondered if it had been ordered to match his outfit. "Sprite and cherry. You want some?" Kurt offered, and Blaine hesitated briefly before reaching out and taking a quick sip.

The fizz was sharp and sweet with the cherry giving it an unexpected kick and Blaine licked his lips after, seriously considering just bypassing the alcohol and ordering himself one of these instead.

"That's good. Real good."

"Hey, glad to see you here," David was back and addressing Kurt.

"Hi," the boy replied, tipping his hat. "David, right? I'm sorry that I kind of ran for it last time we met."

"Don't worry about it, I know Wes is terrifying. Look at that dude. I'd run too."

Kurt snorted with amusement, eyeing Wes, who was certainly being terrifying at the moment, hanging all over the guy on the other side of him, a tall blonde who looked used to this and long suffering. When Blaine was dragged away by Flint, whom he hadn't seen in six months, he didn't worry too much about leaving Kurt for a few minutes. David could get along with anyone and now that he'd seemed to bring Kurt out of his shell a little, Blaine really didn't worry.

Really.

Not a bit.

Everything would be fine.

Which was why he wasn't expecting the lights to dim twenty minutes later and for the random groove tunes played for ambience to lower and be replaced with something different and very familiar. He also didn't expect for a spotlight to shine on the glistening surface of the bar itself and for David to clamber on top of it, pulling Kurt up with him by the hand.

"Hey, birthday boy!" He hooted, slinging an arm around Kurt's shoulders. Shockingly, the red-bedecked boy was grinning as if he'd never had more fun in his life and the bartender, far too used to these kinds of shenanigans, had merely sighed and begun to mix another drink, "Your boy loves musicals too!"

For the second time that night and for a completely different reason, Blaine's jaw dropped open.

"To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing! A need to express, to communicate, to going against the grain, going insane, going mad!"

Yes, that was Kurt's voice, he'd know those crystal tones anywhere. Yes, that was definitely Kurt up there, having lost his hat which was now sitting jauntily upon David's head. Blaine couldn't move.

Until Kurt did.

No.

No, this couldn't possibly be happening. Blaine had to be imagining things or he must have had too many drinks already (he hadn't even had any yet) because there was no way that Kurt was standing on a bar. With Wes and David. Except that not only was Kurt standing on a bar with Wes and David, he was _dancing_ on a bar with Wes and David. And he was watching Blaine, those bright eyes alight with amusement and fun.

Kurt worked with computers and technology for a living and cooked and may or may not have owned (and worn) a ruffled housewife apron at one point. He also, rather shamelessly to his credit or misfortune, loved being in the spotlight.

If that spotlight happened to be on a Broadway stage or on top of a bar, he wasn't going to complain.

Smug, Kurt continued to sing, pulling some of the more grounded and stationary routines from his years as a Cheerio. Sue Sylvester might have been a slave-driving dictator, but never let it be said that she couldn't choreograph a good routine. He'd have to thank her later.

Holy. Freaking. Crap. Holy freaking crap, Blaine didn't think that those hips had ever existed on a boy before.

"Come on, birthday boy!" Wes called, "We saved a space for you!"

There was only one proper answer to the unasked question, and Blaine's answer was to bolt over there, hopping up onto a stool to pull himself up onto the bar to join his friends. The bartender rolled his eyes and fixated on cleaning some martini glasses. Blaine made a mental note to leave him a very big tip.

"How'd they rope you into this?" he half-shouted to Kurt over the cheers, and Kurt swiped his hat back from David and set it right on top of Blaine's curls.

"Who said there was any roping?" he called back when the lyrics lulled, "I'm having a blast!"

It had been a long-running joke from high school that if there was something Blaine could jump or climb on during a performance, he probably would. Now he wondered why he hadn't thought of this sooner.

"WINE AND BEER!"

Neither of them had the excuse of being drunk but somehow, Blaine felt that it was better like this because it meant that he'd remember every little second of this, and that Kurt was dancing with him and he was dancing with Kurt solely because they wanted to and could. Thinking could come later though, now was the time to revel and see if he could coerce Kurt into putting on a paper party hat.

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><p>"Okay, so that might be the best birthday party I've ever had," Blaine said breathlessly as he and Kurt walked up the stairs of the apartment building. Blaine himself was still humming <em>La Vie Boheme<em> happily under his breath and Kurt felt like he had laughed more that night than he had since graduation.

"I'm happy you had a good time. Your friends are hysterical."

"Yeah, they're kinda nuts. I hope they weren't too much."

Blaine wasn't sure why, but when Kurt fixed him with an amusedly challenging stare, he felt that he'd suddenly opened up a locked box. A locked box that probably should have stayed locked if he wanted to keep his sanity. …screw it, the sanity was probably long gone anyway.

"When mine comes around, you ought to come and meet _my_ friends. Hang out with them long enough and you'll know exactly where I learned to party. No bars though; no need to tempt any of the ones with fake IDs."

Never mind that Rachel would likely try to hijack his party and turn it into a concert for the musical stylings of Madame Rachel 'Barbra' Berry, and Puck would try to take him to strip club if he let him. At least Puck would be relatively considerate and take him to a male strip club (and Finn and Sam and Mike would run away in terror), but Kurt wasn't taking any chances.

They reached the third floor and Kurt stopped, seeing the figure sitting on the floor of the breezeway next to his door.

"Finn?" Kurt asked incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

The gargantuan boy looked up, blinking when Kurt separated himself from Blaine and approached him, towering over _him_ for once instead of the other way around.

"Oh, I uh, had a message for you."

"Why didn't you call or text me?"

"I was already out and didn't have my phone."

Kurt ignored the urge to ask why Finn was out so late because it would open up the question of what _he_ was doing out so late, and Kurt kind of didn't feel like telling his stepbrother that he'd spent his evening dancing on a table in a bar with a bunch of guys. Finn would swear to secrecy but inevitably, his father would find out somehow and he'd never hear the end of it.

"What is it that you needed to tell me, then?"

"Oh, Dr. James pulled up your schematics from your checkup last month and says that there's some sort of fritz in one of the circuits of your shoulder, and there's a new antivirus update he wants you to get. He wants you to come in soon and fix….it…." Finn trailed off as all of the color drained out of Kurt's face and the realization dawned on him that his brother hadn't been alone. "Shit. Kurt—"

Kurt wasn't looking at him though.

He'd turned around to stare at Blaine, who was staring back at him in some combination of shock, confusion, and something that Kurt knew intimately as fear.

"What in the hell?" he asked, voice strangely hollow, gazing at Kurt as if he'd never seen him before, "What's he talking about, Kurt? Schematics? Circuits in your shoulder? _Your_ antivirus?"

Kurt began to tremble, his heart thudding dully in his head, something cold starting to seep in from his stomach and spreading through the rest of him.

"Blaine, dude…" Finn began, only to trail off when Kurt grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to his feet.

"Finn, go. Please go."

"I'm sor—"

"We can talk later. Please just go. Now. Please. Go."

Finn as good as ran, brushing past Blaine and streaking towards his car as if the bats of hell were after him. Neither of the other two boys had moved. Kurt's hands were clenching in the hem of his shirt and Blaine was whiter than anything, feeling as if his world had just gotten turned upside down.

This was everything that Kurt had been terrified of.

He could literally feel the entire everything he had with Blaine slipping away from him. Their friendship, their camaraderie, any hope he'd ever harbored of their relationship becoming anything more than friendship. All of it, slipping away like a rope slicked up with oil, right through his hands.

"What was he talking about, Kurt?" Blaine felt himself say the words but they sounded like he was underwater to him, muted and cold and numb with shock.

"Blaine, I…" Kurt began, voice cracking just the tiniest bit, "I…I was going to tell you. S-sometime. I swear."

"What. Was. He. Talking. About?" Blaine ground out, still numb.

Kurt was beginning to go red around the eyes and he wasn't blinking because if he blinked, he'd definitely cry. No crying. He couldn't cry. He could and would later, but not now.

"Blaine…I'm a…" Kurt stopped and inhaled a shaky breath, trying his best to gather himself up. "I'm a cyborg."

The world stopped. Kurt was a statue frozen where he stood and now it was Blaine's turn to start to shake.

"T-this whole time? You've been a-a—You've been a _robot_? With…w-with programs, and- and…oh my god."

"_No_!" Kurt cried, "I am _not_ a robot!"

But Blaine had whirled and broken into a full-out run, taking the stairs three at a time and running anywhere. He didn't know where he was going. Running anywhere. Away. Away from everything, away from his revelations.

Away from Kurt.

The boy left in the breezeway bolted to the balcony and began to scream at the top of his lungs,

"I'm not a robot! I'm not a fucking robot! Blaine Anderson, do you hear me?" His voice began to break, "I'm a cyborg! I'm human! _HUMAN!_ I'm not a robot…" He gripped the railing tight as if it was the only thing in the world keeping him standing, a truth that he didn't want to acknowledge. His voice became more of a sob, and he gasped out, breathing harsh, "I'm not a robot. I'm human. I'm not a robot. I'm human. I'm not… I'm not…"

And Kurt Hummel broke down and cried.

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><p>He didn't know how long it was until the haze of tears and sobs cleared, or how long it took to calm down.<p>

Kurt straightened up and wiped his eyes, still feeling shaky.

He could go inside and forget about everything, pretend that he wasn't feeling like he'd been broken into a thousand pieces.

He could get into his car and drive home, or ask someone to pick him up.

Or…

Kurt stared in the direction that Blaine had gone.

Long fingers covered with soft pale skin, lined with muscles and tendons and cored with metal and wire clenched so hard they dug half-moons into his palms. His pain was human. His heart was still pounding. A human heart, a human brain, a human soul.

Kurt breathed. Human lungs. A human voice.

He was the embodiment of a father's love for his child, the proof of the dedication of an expansive team of scientists to someone they admired and respected, a personification of the devotion of a mother who had never given up on him.

Stonily, Kurt opened his door and set his bag inside, taking only his keys with him when he closed and relocked it.

Unflinchingly, he stared in the direction that Blaine had gone.

And there it was.

Kurt ran after him.

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><p>AN2: Whew. Holy crap, this might be the hardest chapter I've ever had to write. My apologies for the cliffhanger and if this was hard on anyone, but as they say, it's always darkest just before dawn. As always, please review if you have anything to say, good or bad. I love praise, but as a writer, I appreciate constructive criticism just as much. I am at your mercy. –bows-<p> 


	8. Deep Waters

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance.<p>

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><p>AN: Wow, last chapter got a hell of a response! So many angry Blaine comments, which I about expected. It was kind of a dick move, even if he had his own logic for it. Thank you all for your reviews, as always! I read every single one of them, and often reply to them if I can (i.e. logged in with reply feature enabled).<p>

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and my apologies for the slight delay and that it's a little short.

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><p>Chapter Eight: Deep Waters<p>

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><p>Blaine didn't know how long he ran.<p>

He ran until the buildings blurred in front of him and he couldn't draw air into his lungs, until his feet began to ache in shoes that weren't designed for this. He wanted to run and never stop until things were normal again.

He wanted to run until Kurt was normal again, and Blaine could do what he'd been seriously considering and man up to ask him out. He remembered the very moment that his world had broken and everything went cold, and he remembered the way Kurt's eyes had widened, huge and bright but glittering with tears that wouldn't fall in front of him. He remembered the hurt, angry, terrified screams echoing from the balcony, and he remembered forcing himself to keep going and not look back at him.

Blaine choked and kept running.

The only sounds he heard were the pounding footsteps of his own feet, and as Blaine finally collapsed onto a swing in the middle of the local park, he knew that he was alone.

The world was silent and dark and shadows seemed bigger and darker than they normally were, and Blaine stayed where he was.

He was definitely alone, and this time he'd brought it on himself.

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><p>Kurt felt like the world was clearer than it ought to be, panic and fear and a fair amount of residual fury making him feel as if somewhere inside him a faucet had been opened.<p>

He didn't stop to catch his breath or think about where the other boy could have gone or consider the fact that this might be the most inefficient way to go about finding someone. But it had to be done this way. Blaine had run and Kurt had to go after him.

If only to make sure that he knew the truth, not the warped image that he seemed to hold.

Kurt didn't want to lose Blaine, but if he was, it was going to lose him to the truth, not some image that his brain or society or the media held. He knew that he'd go home eventually and probably cry a lot more and call up his girlfriends. He knew that regardless of everything, he'd definitely be going down to the lab to get his update and get his shoulder looked at, and he'd probably scream at Finn even though it was kind of like yelling at a particularly dim puppy.

He would go back to his apartment, and if Blaine didn't move out, he'd continue to look him in the eyes without fear even if he'd lost.

If being shoved and degraded and misunderstood had done anything beneficial for Kurt, it had made him nothing if not determined.

Kurt Hummel did not and would not back down.

The boy gritted his teeth and kept going even though his breathing was going ragged and he was having a hard time drawing in the air he needed and he was sure that he might have pulled something in his calf because it hurt to put weight down on it. Everything was tight, but as long as Blaine had kept running from him, he'd have to keep following.

Kurt Hummel only ran after things that mattered, and Blaine mattered.

And then, as if something that Kurt had never believed in had answered his prayers he hadn't prayed, there he was.

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><p>Suddenly, there was the sound of someone's breathing that wasn't his.<p>

Blaine silently lifted his head and shifted tensely, recognizing Kurt's silhouette against the street lamps, cast against the inky sky and the lights of the stars. He shifted to move, stilling abruptly when Kurt spoke.

"Don't move. I know you; you wouldn't stop unless you had nothing left. I really don't want to run again quite so soon, anyway."

Kurt's voice was hoarse and Blaine wondered if it was from screaming in rage or from sobbing, before forcing himself to stop thinking about it. He didn't want to be concerned. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to hurt and he didn't want the pain on Kurt's face, plain as the darkness around him, to hurt so much. Blaine wished he was empty because then, this wouldn't matter.

Kurt walked over and sat down on the swing next to Blaine. He was limping slightly.

"You're hurt?" Blaine asked lowly, gesturing to the younger boy's leg and absently, Kurt ran his fingers over his calf, face unreadable.

"Guess I pulled something. It doesn't matter, muscles heal."

For a good while, silence reigned. An awkward, oppressive silence that neither of them found comfortable, so unlike their usual silences. Those times, Kurt would just be watching as Blaine worked with Fortissimo, not hovering, just observing. Or Blaine would be parked in his usual spot in Kurt's kitchen, watching the other boy cook, comfortable in himself and what they had.

This was misery stuffed into nothingness, and neither of them could take it.

"What do you think of me?" Kurt finally asked, lacing his hands in the chains of the swing set. "I don't want your censoring or sugarcoating. I want the truth."

The truth, because that was all that he was willing to give.

"…I'm scared." The words came through, tiny and ashamed and low, "I'm terrified right now. I'm scared of you. I thought that you were someone, and now it turns out that you're— I don't _know_ anymore."

"Blaine… you always knew. What am I and who I am are different things."

"Of course they're not!" Blaine burst out, just the slightest shaking to his voice, "You've got—you've _programs_ in your brain. Was everything just…binary to you? How do I know that it's real? How do I know that you won't just like…break one day? Or that something won't go wrong and you'll be someone different and won't care about you or about me?"

Kurt didn't think that his heart could break anymore than it already had, but at these words, it did. Not just for him –it hurt and everything inside him screamed in agony- but for Blaine too. His words weren't angry though they likely would be at some point. The first feeling he'd stated had been fear. Not anger, but fear. Not just fear _of_ him, but fear _for_ him.

Kurt would have rather had the anger.

"Blaine, do you know what a cyborg is?"

"It's a robot," he answered immediately, refusing to look Kurt in the eyes. "Made of metal and technology and—"

"_No_," Kurt insisted, voice tight and adamant, "You're wrong. A robot is just a robot. Essentially a-an advanced computer. A cyborg is someone who has both biological and artificial parts. Yeah, I've got some mechanical parts, but I was born human. I'm still human."

"How? And for god's sake, _why_?"

"Blaine, do you think I'm like this because I want to be? That I just got up one day and said, 'hey I wonder if I could survive putting tech in me!'? No!" There was a flash of anger, and Kurt struggled to get himself under control again, "I was basically born broken. Long story made very short, I would never have been able to move my body otherwise. Never would have been able to walk, to sing, to dance. Never move my arms to give anyone a hug, never turn my head to see who'd walked into the room. Even then, I would have been dead by five. My father…. And my mother, they couldn't handle that. Dad was already the head of the bioengineering department by then, and he got his best team together, and over the span of months they were able to create a skeletal structure for me that would function as a normal human's would, that with semi-regular injections would grow in the way that a normal human's would."

Blaine had raised his head only to drop his jaw in shock. Kurt ignored it and kept talking.

"They had to implant a chip into my head so that my human parts and my mechanical parts could work together. That's why I can pull up programs, and that's why I have to have an antivirus. I get sick, just like you. I'm physically stronger than a normal person and I have to eat more than a normal person, but my skin gets scraped up and bruised and I bleed red just like you. I can't—I could look up something on the internet in my head, but that wouldn't make me able to do it. I could learn the lyrics to a song, but that doesn't mean I could hit the notes. Blaine, I could show you how to put your fingers on the strings to make a certain chord, but that doesn't mean that I'd be able to play."

Kurt gritted his teeth.

"…is that why you're not in school?" Blaine finally asked, and Kurt _flinched_. The response took a while to come.

"Yes," He answered. "Everyone thought that I'd have too much of an advantage over the other students, and they thought I'd cheat to get the grades. It doesn't matter that the only advantage I have at all comes from being able to look up and store facts and information, and what good do facts do you in life? What good is knowledge if there's nothing you can _do_ with it? Facts wouldn't have helped me sing or get an audition… get on stage and be heard. Who cares if you know how to make a straight surgical cut if your hands aren't steady or confident enough to do it?" There was the anger, the familiar rush of simultaneous fire and ice that never failed to make Kurt's blood boil and freeze, "I have _nothing_ over anyone."

"Who…who else knows?"

"Other than you? My father, obviously. My stepmother and Finn- actually, my entire glee club. Actually, most of my high school and their parents, thanks to that Neanderthal, Karofsky,"

Kurt didn't even wait for the expected question to barrel forward.

"He was already a closeted dickbag, but he found out about me in senior year, kissed me and assaulted me, and basically told me that if I outed him, he'd tell everyone he knew. I said nothing, but he told anyway, telling everyone he could that I'd kissed _him_, that I was a dangerous bag of bolts whose only purpose was to corrupt and contaminate the normal people," Each word dripped with resentment and bitterness, "The only people who'd so much as look at me were my glee club, my Spanish teacher-slash-glee coach, and the cheerleading coach. Dad kept everything quiet by promising to sue the living daylights out of every single parent involved and the school itself if anyone breathed a word of it, so that's how no one else found out. When being a busybody can bring the full wrath of Carbon Corp. down on your head, people tend to listen."

For an entire minute, neither of them did anything but breathe.

"So here I am."

Silence reigned again, and Kurt began to lightly swing back and forth, just barely brushing the bottoms of his boots along the grass. Blaine wasn't looking at him again and the only sounds were those of the night and the slight creaking of the swing chains.

"Kurt…"

The taller boy stopped, drawing to a halt the moment Blaine moved to stand in front of him. Blue eyes went wide and met conflicted hazel.

"Y-yes?"

A hand reached out, and callused fingertips landed on Kurt's temple, sliding down his cheek and brushing his jaw. They traveled down his throat, over his shoulder and finally came to a rest on his chest.

"I swear to you, Blaine, I am myself. Everything I've done and everything I've said…all of those things are _me_. The good things, the bad things… I can be self-centered sometimes and a little overdramatic, but all of that, it's all me. There's no RAM, no personality coding, I don't have a USB slot hidden anywhere. You can't plug me in, and I don't have any hidden speakers. I don't think in binary, and I'm no one's computer."

As he spoke, Blaine could hear Kurt's heart thudding under his palm, the beat hard and fast and he realized that through all of this, underneath a guise of calm and resignation, Kurt was _scared_.

"Are…are you…?"

"I'm _petrified_, Blaine," he ground out, tense and unhappy. He didn't shove the hand off of him. "I didn't want it to happen this way. I don't know how I wanted it to go, but not like this. Maybe not at all. I don't want to lose you. Not as a friend, not as- as anything. But if it's that or deny what's gotten me this far in life? Deny what keeps me alive, deny the hard work that an amazing team did to keep me together and bring me here? I can't do that. If it comes to that, then…" Kurt broke off, looking Blaine in the eyes. "If you're going to walk away from me, then do it right now and don't look back. Leave now and you don't have to worry, I won't go after you again."

Blaine's heartbeat was loud and heavy in his head.

He took in Kurt's face, the way he was watching him and worrying his lip between his teeth. His hair was windblown and beginning to slip in front of his eyes and he wasn't even bothering to push it away or try and fix it, and somehow that was weirder than anything else because Kurt not caring about his appearance meant that this was serious business.

He felt Kurt's heartbeat.

It sounded just like his.

Blaine shifted his hand back to Kurt's shoulder and reached out with the other to match it.

"My mind is kind of- kind of blown right now. Like, really. I feel like a bread box that was already full, and then someone tried to stuff in a baguette. I think I need to process everything, but I do know that I… I don't want to lose you. I don't want to deny you and I don't want you to deny yourself. The thought of walking down the street, seeing you, and not saying hello, I can't handle it. I want to keep messing up and I want you to keep yanking me out of it. I want to stay with you because the world is better with you, and _I'm_ better with you. I'm still not totally sure what that means, but…"

Blaine's voice shook and Kurt's face was unreadable.

"I'll burn my birthday cake every year if that means that you'll still show up."

He cut off, and Kurt finally reacted. It started as a shudder but morphed into a shocked chuckle that bordered on the edge of hysteria, cut intermittently with the occasional sob. Something twisted painfully in Blaine's stomach and he leaned forward to press himself close, one hand shifting to twine in the hair at Kurt's nape, the other encircling his shoulders. It felt the same as it always had, comfortable and warm and _safe_.

"Thank you for coming after me," he whispered in the other boy's ear.

That was all it took for Kurt to break entirely. He didn't make a sound but his whole frame shook and Blaine felt a suspicious warmth blossoming somewhere around his shoulder.

"Please don't cry anymore," he pleaded lowly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not crying, I pulled a muscle. My leg hurts. That's all," Kurt ground out with a hiccup, "I'm not crying. It's j-just my l-leg—"

It was a terrible lie even for Kurt, and they both knew it. Blaine just shook his head and held him tight, not just for Kurt's benefit but his own. This whole thing made him want to cry himself, and he might later when no one else would know about it, but right now it was the last thing he wanted to do, not when he'd failed his first test so spectacularly.

"Yeah, okay," Blaine accepted steadily, and strong arms wound around his waist and squeezed tight.

Neither of them thought about how much the walk back to their apartment building was going to suck from the other side of town at three in the morning. Blaine didn't worry about how he was going to wake up in the morning for his shift and the last thing on Kurt's mind was the fact that he was going to have to have a long talk with Finn and that in retrospect, skinny jeans were a bitch to run in.

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><p>They would eventually separate from each other and Kurt would get up, startled briefly by the sharp pain that really did run up his leg and Blaine would offer to piggyback him. The taller boy would roll his eyes and make a retort on how there was not a chance in hell that Blaine could possibly carry him.<p>

Blaine would try anyway, much to Kurt's protest, and be shocked at the fact that no, he couldn't move the other boy an inch.

They would begin the long walk home, the city just barely lit by street lamps and the stars, and Blaine would marvel at how everything and yet nothing had changed. Kurt was still Kurt and he was definitely still Blaine. Kurt would remain in a state of hypersensitive shock and relief, unable to quite believe that he'd _won_ and that he wasn't walking home alone.

Kurt wore his limp like a badge of honor and to try and lighten the mood, Blaine hobbled along too like a pirate with a peg leg. Kurt would smirk, secretly touched by the gesture and call him Blackbeard for the rest of the walk back.

Once in a while, their fingertips would brush together and Blaine wouldn't notice the hesitant little side glances that Kurt would shoot him just before the younger boy would extend his hand further and lace their hands together.

Neither of them would mention it and neither would pull away. Blaine would fight the urge to squirm in pleasure and relief like a puppy in the summer sun and Kurt would be able to smile again.

Maybe it wasn't okay just yet.

But it would be.

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><p>AN2: I hope you enjoyed chapter eight! As always, please review if you enjoyed this, or if you hated it. Really though, how'd you get to the eighth chapter is you hated it?<p> 


	9. Kid Gloves

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you so much for the response on the last chapter! It was overwhelmingly positive, and I'm so excited that it's been enjoyed by so many people.<p>

This story isn't quite ready to wrap up, but probably won't hit thirteen chapters. I hope that you all stay with me right up to the end!

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><p>Chapter Nine: Kid Gloves<p>

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><p>It had been three days since Blaine had seen Kurt. Three days to think, three days to worry, three days to…well, obsess.<p>

Since then, the curly-haired boy had been antsy and even less focused on work than usual. Normally, they at least passed one another in the breezeway on a normal day but the last three days, even that hadn't happened. Kurt's door hadn't opened and Blaine didn't want to admit to the fact that now he was beginning to get legitimately worried, though he really had no reason to be.

He was sitting on the floor in his living room, guitar in his arms and a spiral notebook on the coffee table, Fortissimo open on his laptop. The beginnings of lyrics were scrawled out in the notebook, though at this point they weren't so much lyrics as they were crossed out words.

"Write what you know, Blaine. Write what you know," he muttered to himself, "What do you know?"

He thought for a bit, flopping onto his back and absently scratching at the scruff on his chin.

Blaine Anderson realized that very moment that when it came down to it, he didn't know very much.

"I know about being bored and annoyed and wishing that my parents would quit trying to hook me up with girls," he began to list off, "I know a lot about dogs, and music, and pop culture. I know about…" He froze suddenly, a funny little tingle running up his spine, "Kurt. I know about Kurt." If he didn't get killed on the spot for this, he might actually have a viable option there. "What do I know about Kurt? He's awesome, he's funny, he's attractive, he's smart but kind of dumb sometimes. He's dramatic and sensitive and…"

_I'm human, Blaine._

"He's human. …that's it. Shit, I might actually have something here—"

Blaine scrambled for his notebook but stilled when he heard voices filter in from the outside through the thin walls.

"I still think you ought to have stayed home for a few more days."

"Uncle James, if I stayed in there for any longer, I'd be crazier than I am now. I love Finn but the boy does not know how to shut up. I'll take my meds, make sure I eat, make sure I scan, blah blah blah."

The snark was unmistakable and without thinking twice about it, Blaine had found himself at the front door, flinging it open. Kurt was accompanied by a tall man in a dark suit with cropped red hair and green eyes that probably would have looked better if he hadn't been frowning at Kurt who frowned right back at him. The younger boy looked…awful.

His eyes were ringed with dark circles and his hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days and Blaine didn't think he even owned a pair of pajama pants, but there they were and he was wearing a t-shirt. He looked exhausted and frustrated and…cranky.

Kurt jumped when the door opened and stared Blaine in the face, before suddenly glancing down at himself. Color rose in his cheeks and Blaine could hear him mutter a horrified,

"Oh my _god_," before he broke away from the man next to him, fleeing into his apartment.

"Uh, hi there," Blaine greeted awkwardly. "I'm Blaine, Kurt's, uh, friend-neighbor-thing. Is he okay?"

The man reached out and shook his hand.

"Dr. Cameron James. He's fine, young man. Just a little under the weather."

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. He'd heard that name before, and Kurt had called him 'uncle'.

"Are you from Carbon?" he asked conversationally, receiving a nod in reply, "Also, I know. About…" Blaine pointed towards Kurt's door and made a hand gesture that he hoped would be understood for what it was, namely _I know he's a cyborg. _"Is he really okay?"He wasn't expecting James' face to break into a relieved smile, not at all.

"Oh goodness, he told you?" the professional tone went a touch friendlier, and Blaine had to wonder regardless if at some point in his life this man had been a bodyguard, "He had to go get fixed up; there was a short in his shoulder that was worse off than I thought, so the fix was significantly more painful than we were expecting. And the antivirus update always gives him the mother of all headaches; he's been fighting with it for the last three days. He finally insisted on coming home today, but I think he ought to have stayed where someone could look after him. If I walk in there, he _will_ throw something at me. …Again."

"Uh, I can see if he can stand me?" Blaine offered suddenly, tilting his head. "Hopefully he'll be surprised enough that he won't clobber me."

"That's actually not a terrible idea," the redhead considered, scratching his chin, "He doesn't need a doctor, just someone to keep him from doing too much too fast."

"Which means…?"

"No work or paid jobs, make sure he eats and takes the meds he was given, and make sure he completes his scan. He'll definitely whine about that one, it makes the headache worse. And just…generally keep him from hurting himself. If you can cheer him up, that's a bonus."

Blaine had been a Warbler for four years. He _knew_ how to keep people from hurting themselves.

"So a babysitter, basically."

A tiny smile flirted over Blaine's face at the thought, though it was wiped off at the following thought of what would happen if Kurt found out that he thought of it as babysitting.

"Essentially," Dr. James replied, taking out a business card and handing it to Blaine. "The kid's got my number, but if anything happens and you can't get through his contacts, here you go." Blaine took the card and looked it over, unsurprised that the man carried his own contact cards but a tad taken aback by the fact that it was a normal paper card instead of the high tech holo-card that most high ranking employees carried. "Good luck." He saluted and began to make his way down the stairs; Blaine gulped.

That man seemed _way_ too relieved and excited to pass his duty off and Blaine wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

No escaping it now, though, and he pushed Kurt's door open.

Kurt himself had curled up on his couch and flung a comforter over his head so that he was no more than a human-sized lump underneath an ocean of fluffy blue and yellow.

"Uncle James, I said you can go home. _Please_ leave me alone, I'm begging you."

"Uh, sorry, not your doctor uncle," Blaine said sheepishly and Kurt sat bolt upright, popping his head out of his cocoon and gaping unflatteringly, only to grab his head and flinch, ducking back into the dark.

"Oh god, bad idea. Bad idea, _very_ bad idea," he snarled to himself. Blaine waited until he'd finished yelling at himself before walking over draping himself over the back of the couch to peer down at his friend. Blue eyes peeked right back at him out of the blanket cave. "Hi."

"Hi," Blaine replied, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He hated seeing Kurt so miserable, but right now he was _adorable _and Blaine really just wanted to reach out and pet him or something. "My job now, I think." Kurt scowled, knowing exactly what he meant by that statement.

"Yay," he grumbled unenthusiastically.

"I'm supposed to feed you, but…" Blaine bit his lip again, "I know bad headaches can make you kind of sick. Can you keep anything down?"

"I can handle something simple," Kurt finally replied, quieter this time and just the tiniest bit les resentful, "I'm not hungry, but I _do_ need it. Ugh." He made a face. "If you could nuke some of the tomato soup in the fridge, that would be awesome. And maybe some crackers or something."

"Your wish is my command," Blaine bowed with a flourish, coaxing a tiny smile out of the boy on the couch.

By the time he'd returned, Kurt had reverted into full-on burrito caterpillar mode and when Blaine prodded him a bit to get him to take the food, he came face to face with what might have been the cutest thing he'd seen in his life. Kurt sat up reluctantly and glared at the bowl in his hands as if it had personally offended him, blanket still draped over his shoulders and the corners of his mouth downturned and _oh god his hair was totally sticking up in the back_.

"You laugh, you die," Kurt threatened and Blaine made a lip-zipping hand gesture, miming throwing away the key. He ate slowly and laboriously as if every bite was an effort and Blaine tried not to hover over him, finally settling for sitting down on the cushion on the end of the couch.

"How do you feel?" he asked, pointedly eyeing Kurt's shoulder.

"Awful," Kurt replied honestly, "I can handle either the shoulder or the head, but not both at once. I feel like I got run over by a truck, and then someone got the bright idea to see what a jackhammer would do to my head." He grimaced again and finally set his bowl aside. There was a bit left but Blaine wouldn't nag him about it. "I want to sleep for days."

Briefly, Blaine debated in his head whether he wanted to make the offer or not but eventually came to the conclusion of 'oh, what the hell'.

Smiling crookedly, he patted his lap and Kurt stared at him suspiciously, as if mentally questioning whether he was imagining things.

"I guarantee you, best lap in town," the older boy boasted, "Even _Wes_ likes to sleep in my lap."

"Wes is questionable in about every way imaginable," Kurt muttered, glancing shiftily from Blaine's face to his lap then back to his face again. He could _feel_ the red on his face, and Kurt wished that this…whatever it was that he had for Blaine didn't make him so prone to doing embarrassing things and thinking embarrassing thoughts. The curly-haired boy patted his lap again invitingly, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, stop that. _Fine_," As if waiting for an expected rejection to come even this late, Kurt tentatively shifted further down the couch and lowered to a horizontal position, dropping his head into Blaine's lap.

It was easy enough to tell that he was as tense as anything and Blaine gently began to stroke his head, running light circles over his temple, carding his fingers through his hair and using Grandmother Anderson's technique of applying just the perfect amount of nail to his scalp. His hair was as soft as it looked, loose and unstyled as it was.

"Oh my god, I will give you anything I own if you do that forever," Kurt muttered, pulling his blanket back up and closing his eyes, involuntarily relaxing.

"What an offer," Blaine teased, scratching gently and omitting the fact that having Kurt in his lap was reward enough. "What if I wanted that rocking navy blue coat of yours? With the lapels and leather trim."

"Nooooo, anything but that," Kurt whined into his thigh, voice slightly muffled in his comforter, "That is Burberry and vintage and you can't have it. It wouldn't fit you anyway."

"Guess I just have to be satisfied with seeing _you_ wear it, then," Blaine replied lightly, hoping that his amusement didn't come out too obviously in his voice. Looking down at Kurt, it was weirder than anything to think about the fact that instead of bones, he had an entire skeleton of metal and nanotechnology for all that he looked now. If he'd had any reservations of Kurt's humanity before this, they probably would have been smashed into tiny pieces by seeing him now, grouchy and ouchie like this.

Blaine continued to pet his hair right up to the moment that those pain-hazed blue eyes closed and stayed that way and Kurt's breathing slowed and evened out.

No, this opportunity was definitely enough of a reward in itself.

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><p>The first thing Kurt noticed when he woke up was that the pain had diminished. His shoulder still ached like no one's business and the pounding in his head was still distracting but had lessened. The second thing he noticed was that his television was turned on but the volume lowered to just audible and that all of the lights had been dimmed. The third thing he noticed was the hand that rested on his head, occasionally running through his hair.<p>

"Hi," he said, brain still slightly hazy from his impromptu nap.

"Hi," Blaine replied, "How're you feeling?"

"Little better. Still feel like I got run over by a truck, but less jackhammer."

"Well, that's a plus. Feel up to doing your virus scan?"

Kurt glared at him.

"Don't look at me like that!" Blaine protested, "Your doctor…uncle, dude, whoever he is was pretty insistent on it."

"Ooooh, better hope he never hears you call him dude, he'll throw you out the window ass over honeypot. Finn did that once and Uncle James put him in a sleeper hold."

Kurt smiled dryly at the fond memory.

"Seriously, though," Blaine had sobered and was looking down at Kurt with a look of concern, "You really ought to do it if you're supposed to-"

"_Fine_," Kurt growled, sitting up and wrapping his comforter tighter around him, "Just…" he hesitated, "Don't watch me do it. It's apparently really weird, and even Mercedes freaked out when she saw and she's been my best friend for ages." Kurt's mind flashed back to three nights ago, and his stomach clenched when he remembered the look of shock and horror on his friend's face.

"I'd…I'd like to see, anyway," Blaine replied after a long pause, as if trying to choose his words as they came out, "I won't freak out."

Kurt smiled sadly at him, deciding against telling Blaine that Mercedes had said the same thing.

"Well, I can't stop you, I'm going nowhere fast like this. If I got up now, I'd probably hurl all over the carpet." The chestnut-haired boy settled himself against the back of the couch. "Just…please be quiet, if you can." The moment he slipped into the scan was visibly clear; his bright eyes hazed and his entire face went slack and blank. The tiniest, quietest sound could be heard that didn't come from his mouth, like a cross between the call of a cricket and a bell.

Blaine couldn't help it; he stared in fascination.

It was the strangest thing he'd ever seen, to watch emotional, high-energy Kurt slide into a state of just…nothing. Experimentally, he waved a hand in front of the taller boy's face. No reaction in the slightest.

He watched, and he watched, and he watched until coherency began to show in Kurt's face and the boy hummed softly, stretching his arms over his head before rubbing at his temples. He shot Blaine an apprehensive look, clearly expecting a reaction of disgust or incredulity.

He wasn't expecting to see the rapt enthrallment on Blaine's face, all interest and focus and he squirmed a little, unused to the scrutiny.

"Are you aware when you scan?" he asked, and Kurt shrugged slightly.

"Kind of. I can tell what's going on but only as an afterthought sort of thing. Like I could tell when you waved your hand in front of me, but when I'm that deep in the program, most external stimulus gets put on the backburner. I'm more aware if I don't go deep, but the scanner requires my full attention to be thorough."

"Did…did you know that there's a noise?"

Blaine took it as a no when Kurt just cocked his head to the side.

"A noise?" he asked deliberately.

"Yeah. It's really quiet, and if I'd been loud or talking, I wouldn't have been able to hear it at all. It kinda sounds like…I dunno, like if a cricket was playing a handbell, only just one long note." Blaine thought that his description probably sounded like a kindergartener's art project, but Kurt merely looked considering, hand absently rubbing his head still.

"Huh," he said finally, bemusement all over his face. "I never knew. Dad never mentioned anything about it, and 'Cedes was probably too focused on not knowing whether I was dying to notice it." A faint smile quirked at his lips and Blaine couldn't help but return it. "You learn something every day." Suddenly, he frowned. "Was it annoying?"

Blaine shook his head.

"No," he replied, "It was actually…actually quite pretty." Kurt's face softened and Blaine reached out a hand to brush a bit of his bangs out of his face. "You want to lay down again? Uncle Doctor said that scanning made everything worse. Magic lap is still open for business."

"He _so_ deserves to be called that," Kurt muttered, before meeting Blaine's eyes. "He certainly told you enough, didn't he? He's not wrong, but I'd feel bad, since I already slept on you for like, two hours. You probably want to go home and try and write something or… something. Since it's Saturday and totally your day off." Blaine shrugged.

"There's nothing I'd do at home that I couldn't do here if I wanted. Besides, if I went home, I'd just worry." He squirmed a little at the admission but the pleased surprise on the other boy's face was so worth it.

"I can take care of myself," Kurt grumbled.

"Well, yeah, but it's nice to not have to, isn't it?" Blaine countered. "Your job right now is to chill out and try to feel better." Kurt's response was to shrug and lay down again, burying his face in the fabric at Blaine's thigh. Blaine grinned and began to hum.

"That had better not be the intro to _All My Friends Are Dicks_," Kurt grumbled, voice muffled again, "If you're gonna sing, sing something good."

"Ouch, someone's not pulling punches today," Blaine exclaimed, pretending to be hurt, and the other boy glared at him with one eye open.

"Sing something new. Improv for me."

"Somehow, I think that's a terrible idea."

"Come on, do what the sick boy says."

"Now you're just taking advantage."

"Shamelessly," Kurt opened his other eye and smiled sweetly. "Come on, please?"

Blaine huffed but smiled back nevertheless, hand already picking up the now familiar motion of stroking Kurt's hair.

"Fine, fine," he thought, and absently began to tap out a beat with his free hand. "I feel like a loser," he began to sing, melody rough and stuttered, "I feel like I'm lost. I feel like I'm not sure if I feel anything at all." Kurt was watching him intently and Blaine felt unbelievably self-conscious. "Um…I don't know what else—"

"Keep going. Just roll with it," Kurt insisted.

"But believe me, I'm not helpless," the words came hesitant and slow, "I just need someone to love. So… so my situation's rough… that just makes me a dumb human," he broke off, "Like…you."

Kurt felt like he'd been clobbered in the head with a baseball bat and it wasn't because of his headache. When he'd asked Blaine to improvise for him, he'd been expecting something funny and silly, not something…well, he hadn't been expecting that. Not something that _meant_ something, not something that was clearly meant for him.

"Blaine, did you…did you really just make that up?" he asked, and the shorter boy ran a hand through his dark curls. "Right now, right off the top of your head?"

"I…I guess I did." Blaine sounded as if he couldn't believe himself.

Kurt's smile widened until he was practically beaming, feeling a little ridiculous but shoving it under a thick sheet of pure elation, light and fluffy and sunny as a cloud.

"I'm so proud of you," he practically whispered, brushing his blanket aside to raise a hand and pat Blaine on the cheek. "Good job."

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><p>AN2: So yeah, I spent a while fighting with myself on whether to actually bring this song into play because I dislike the idea of having too many Darren-isms in a fanfic, but eventually I just couldn't help myself. Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you feel the desire.<p> 


	10. Starstruck

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Not a chance.<p>

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><p>AN: Sorry for the delay with this chapter! Real life caught up with me a bit, and then I got stuck in a little bit of a slump with how exactly I wanted things to go. Thank you all so much for your feedback and comments on the last chapter, I really appreciate it.<p>

I hope you enjoy this one!

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><p>Chapter Ten: Starstruck<p>

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><p>There were many things that Blaine had come to expect in mid-December. He liked to think that he was prepared for about anything this time of year living on the third floor as he was: early Christmas cards from family and the occasional friend and the even more occasional friend of the family, solicitors who wanted to know if he'd found the Lord, anyone who wanted to sell him a vacuum.<p>

This wasn't to say that he was expecting the knock on his door at eight that snowy morning but he hadn't _not_ been expecting it either.

He hadn't been expecting to open his door and see a veritable herd of people whom he'd never met before, _all_ of whom were looking at him as if they'd known him all their lives.

The weirdest part about it was that they were all girls.

"Um…hi?" Blaine greeted hesitantly, covertly stepping into the middle of his doorframe in case one of them happened to be crazy or a murdering burglar or something.

"Hello there," a rather short, curvy dark girl stepped forward and thrust out her hand for him to shake, "You must be Blaine." Blaine had literally just opened his mouth to respond before she shot him a look and barreled on, "Kurt's told us all about you. I'm Mercedes Jones, and we're here to pick you up."

Funny, Blaine hadn't known that he'd had any sort of plans in the slightest…

"G'morning, Pride Parade—"

"Oh my God, Sanny!"

That was a voice he knew and Blaine whipped his head around just in time to notice that a gorgeous Latina had knocked on Kurt's door and that the taller boy had flung it open, sounding shocked and delighted as he threw his arms around her neck. And then it was a stampede to crowd around him, to exchange hugs and kisses and greetings. Mercedes stood back with Blaine, a funny little smile on her face.

"So, Kurt and I were talking last night," she began conversationally, "And we made plans to go shopping this morning. Turns out that the reverse Oreo trio over there decided that they were going to surprise him and asked me not to tell him they were in town before we all popped over. And what a coincidence, Kurt just so happened to mention as well that it would be _fun_ if somehow it was arranged for you to come along too," Her smile widened and Blaine wasn't sure whether he felt like there was an omen or a blessing in his future, "Well, put two and two together. We've wanted to _meet_ you anyway. And so here you are. You in?"

Kurt was too wrapped up to notice Blaine half-hidden in his doorway with Mercedes, soaking in the bright smile and unashamed volume in his voice.

He didn't think he could have refused if he tried.

"Yeah," he said without blinking and sealed the deal, covertly catching a low slap of Mercedes' palm on his.

"Good answer," she replied smugly, before calling out, "I _know_ you're not gonna hang all over those girls and not so much as say hello to me, mister."

Not half a second later was Kurt flailing across the breezeway to half-tackle her, twirling her around and stopping just short of bumping into a wall.

"'Cedes, I know we just talked last night but _good lord have I missed you_," he said softly, dropping a kiss to her cheek and receiving one in return. "So much."

"Me too, boy, me too. And look what we found," Mercedes said breezily, pointing her thumb in Blaine's direction. "One short white boy who's probably going to get frostbite if he doesn't put some shoes on within the next thirty seconds, for your leisure and shopping pleasure."

Oh, hey. Come to think of it, everyone _was_ actually wearing shoes. Kurt was not only wearing shoes, he was wearing knee-high lace-up boots, a scarf, and that awesome Burberry jacket. Blaine, on the other hand, hadn't thought too much about the cold until it was mentioned and then all of a sudden he was freezing, flying back inside to find something warm to wear that might be halfway matching. He missed Kurt's look of surprise and he missed Mercedes lean forward and say smugly into her best friend's ear, "Merry Christmas, honey."

* * *

><p>Kurt had never once been kidding when he'd said that his friends were insane. Oh, Blaine often laughed it off and thought about Wes and David, thinking that there was no way that Kurt could beat that kind of crazy. No way at all.<p>

There had always been several problems with that assessment.

One, Wes and David were both guys. They were insane but they were insane in a similar way and for similar reasons, complementing one another in their insanity.

Two, Wes and David were only two.

Three, Wes and David have been crazy, but they were the private school kind of crazy.

Kurt, on the other hand, had _six_ best friends, all of whom were girls, five of whom were currently packed into Kurt's car, and all of whom were completely insane in completely different ways. They had survived public school, they could survive a nuclear war if they had to using only their abs and Rachel's dog whistle pitch. Mercedes immediately claimed shotgun and so Blaine had been pulled in between Santana and Quinn.

Kurt had offhandedly warned them to be nice, and they looked _disappointed_, Santana dropping her hand from where it had it threatened to start rubbing circles into his collarbone.

"You're lucky," Kurt threw back from the driver's seat, "If Rachel hadn't decided to spend the day sucking face with Finn, she'd have probably claimed your lap."

If that wasn't the most terrifying thought that Blaine had ever been faced with, he wasn't sure what was. He already felt like he'd been thrown into the lion's den after being rubbed with raw steak.

"You know, Kurt –please don't do that, Santana, I'm not food- so much about you makes so much more sense right now."

Santana looked mildly disappointed but shrugged, lacing her fingers with Brittany's instead and squeezing. Blaine caught Kurt's face in the rearview mirror and he wasn't sure what was scarier: the fact that he was seconds away from bursting into peals of laughter again or the fact that he looked entirely unsurprised by Blaine's assessment.

"I did warn you, you realize. But now is not the time for thinking. Now is the time for war."

Blaine gulped.

* * *

><p>"I am in <em>heaven<em>," Kurt was declaring two hours later, several shopping bags already hanging in the crook of his elbow. He'd lost Santana and Brittany somewhere in Frederick's of Hollywood (no, thank you) and Tina had been abandoned when she'd succumbed to the lure of hot pretzels. Quinn and Mercedes flanked him as he looked Blaine up and down.

"I'm happy that my suffering brings you such joy," Blaine quipped in reply. The words were harsh but his tone was good-natured and he held a bag of his own. "I'm surprised that you lower yourself to shop at the mall like us plebes, Fashion King."

Kurt smiled at him and stepped forward, holding up an oversized sweater to Blaine's frame, scrutinizing it.

"I'm not sure about this one. Besides, I've said it before, it's not always about _what_ you wear, but how you rock it. Clothing doesn't have to be expensive to look good –it does often-" he amended with an imperious shake of his head, "But if you know what to look for, you can absolutely dress well on a budget. There's cheap and then there's, well, _cheap_. Just pull this on, I want to see how it looks."

Blaine rolled his eyes a little but nonetheless pulled on the sweater.

Kurt hesitated for the slightest moment before stepping closer, experienced hands reaching out to tug the fabric gently into place, stepping back to look at it from a distance. Just the simple gesture of adjusting his clothing had his heart pounding, and Kurt hoped that he wasn't going red already.

He was.

"I like it, but," he broke off, narrowing his eyes, "Blaine, do you like it? You can say no, you know. I won't be offended, you are allowed to have opinions."

Blaine glanced down at himself and then into the adjacent mirror, tilting his head this way and that, nibbling on his lip.

"It's not…really my thing," he finally said, and Kurt shrugged.

"Sad, but that's how it goes sometimes, outstretching a hand to take the garment and place it back on its hanger.

"You ought to get this boy a scarf," Mercedes insisted, "He looks like a scarf kind of a guy."

Kurt had just opened his mouth to say that no, _he_ was the scarf guy out of the two of them when Quinn began to nod, a secretive smile curling at her lips.

"Oh, definitely. Mercedes is absolutely correct."

That cinched it.

Kurt didn't know how and he didn't know when but he definitely knew _what_ and _why_, and he knew that Mercedes Jones and Quinn Fabray were plotting. Not just plotting either, plotting about him and absolutely plotting about Blaine, and Kurt shot them both a glare that said clearly _I know what you're doing, stop it right now_. Both girls shot him identical smiles and Kurt suppressed a shiver.

"I think that Mercedes and I are going to go find Satan and Brit. You guys go look at scarves."

And then they were gone and Kurt was left alone with Blaine, who looked just about as confused as Kurt felt.

"Is that normal, or is it as weird as it feels?" He asked, furrowing his brows. Kurt sighed.

"Oh, it's weird alright, even for them."

"Should I be scared?"

"Probably. I am," the younger boy muttered, picking at invisible lint on his jacket because somehow everything had gone according to their plan and he'd been left alone with Blaine. In the local mall. At ten in the morning. A hand absently reached down to pat his pocket and – Kurt groaned. Of course. Somehow, Mercedes had made off with his keys, too.

"What should we do?" Blaine asked. Kurt shrugged again.

"Screw it. Let's go look at scarves."

"It seems kind of like walking into a trap—"

Kurt just rolled his eyes and reached out to take Blaine by the wrist, pulling him along.

"Once again, probably. But they're relatively harmless and if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Or at least lower the suffering factor."

"By walking into a trap?"

"Exactly."

So at this point, Kurt had officially given up on reining in his intense like for Blaine in favor of trying to hammer into his head the concept that it was okay to take pride in one's alma mater but that yes, there were other colors in the spectrum besides red and blue. It was disconcerting enough to be expecting…something, anything, and finding nothing, but he'd realized he had a bigger problem when the first thing Blaine touched was a baby poop green monstrosity with knitted tassles and pompoms.

No.

No, this could not be allowed.

Everyone was entitled to something dubious (read: Tina and her propensity for clip-in hair extensions bought from the local Dark 'N Gloomy), but this was too much.

"How about this one?" Blaine asked, and Kurt cringed.

"It is primary orange, boy. Even if that color did look good on anyone, you own nothing that it would go with."

Blaine rolled his eyes at the assessment but nevertheless returned the scarf to its rack, shaking his head.

"Kurt, let's face it. You are much more qualified for this than I am."

"Do you wish you hadn't come?"

The words were out of Kurt's mouth before he could stop them and he wished more than anything that he could have taken them back. Blaine's eyes had widened. Kurt flinched. He knew better than to ask a question he didn't want to know the answer to, really, he did.

"No, never mind. Please don't answer that."

"Why would you think I didn't want to come?" Blaine asked after a moment's quiet, looking a little blindsided. "Yeah, I'm not all good at the color matching thing and I don't know why your friends thought I'd be the scarf guy, but I'm having a good time. Especially when I get to make you look like you swallowed a goldfish." _And I get to spend the day with you. _Kurt bit his lip.

"It's just…I'm having a lot of fun. But I don't want to if you're not having fun too. And my friends have been kind of yanking you around and messing with you all morning and we just sort of dragged you out at the crack of dawn—"

He cut off when Blaine took a step closer and reached out a hand, patting his cheek.

"Don't worry," he said firmly, "If I'm unhappy, you'll know."

Kurt lost his battle to lean against that touch like a cat.

"If you get bored, tell me though, okay?"

"Sure, okay."

The store was quiet and almost empty despite the looming of Christmas on the horizon. It was interesting, for all that they did together, the hanging out and the playing video games and the programming and the songwriting, they actually very rarely went _out_ together, not like this and not usually during the day. With a shifty glance around him, Kurt slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out his mp3 player, upping the volume and draping the headphones around his neck so that the strains of music could just be heard over the sound of clinking hangers.

The silence went comfortable, and Kurt jolted when Blaine twined something around his neck. He glanced down and scowled.

"How dare you," he muttered, "Have you been holding out on me or did you just get lucky?" He picked up the end of the scarf wrapped around his neck and surveyed it, eyes taking in the mingling of green and blue and yellow. The softness of the threads tingled on his skin. "Can't match colors, my ass."

"Ah ah ah," Blaine replied, waggling a finger, "Still your doing. These are the colors in your apartment. If there was a sound effect for the act of my purposefully stroking your ego, what do you think it would be?"

Kurt smirked at him.

"Probably the words coming out of your mouth right now."

"Oh. I can handle that," Blaine mused and Kurt unwrapped his neck, fingers absently running patterns into the fabric. The itchy feeling in his hands was back, the one that made him way too aware that he wanted to reach out and _do_ something. What that something was Kurt had little idea, but had the sinking feeling that in a perfect world, it would probably lead to him pushing Blaine up against a wall and kissing him senseless without having to escape to another country afterward. "Are you okay? You're all red."

Kurt reeled back, heat rising in his cheeks.

"I'm fine!" he declared forcefully, "Absolutely fabulous."

"As always?"

"As always." Kurt might have continued if not for the fact that is brain had caught up with his mouth, and he bit his lower lip. Treacherous, treacherous mouth. Blaine didn't seem to notice his internal monologue, thankfully. "Hey, Blaine?"

Aw, crap.

"Yeah?" the shorter boy replied.

"N-nevermind."

The ceiling was _awesome,_ Kurt decided, twisting his hands together behind his back. He really had to get a better control on himself, otherwise he'd be blabbing to the world next about his intense attraction to Blaine Anderson, and that was only second-worst to blabbing to the man himself.

"O…kay," Blaine's eyes lingered on him a little longer than usual and Kurt squirmed. Blaine's eyes narrowed before he stepped forward, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. Immediately, he was tense. That was weird. "Did you get a chance to eat?" he asked suddenly, "I didn't. Let's go hunt down some breakfast. Lunch. Whatever,"

"I think the term is brunch," Kurt replied, setting the scarf back onto its rack.

"You're not going to get any of these?"

"Not sure yet, I'll think on it and see how I feel later. Besides, the thought of foiling whatever sort of plan my girlfriends cooked up is high on my priority list."

"You know what's high on _my_ priority list?"

"Hmmm?"

"A very, very large cinnamon roll."

A warm, sweet, gooey, unrollable cinnamon roll. High in carbs, sugar, and likely to go straight to his hips.

"That might be the best idea I've ever heard in my life."

* * *

><p>A cinnamon roll might have been the best idea that anyone had ever had ever, but a cinnamon roll by itself couldn't quite beat sharing one with Blaine, who kept drizzling more and more sugar glaze over it until neither of them could even see the roll anymore for the veritable ocean of sugary goodness and extra cinnamon.<p>

"Ten bucks say Santana and Brittany got kicked out of the lingerie store for being inappropriate."

Kurt snorted and sent stink eye across the table at Blaine.

"Four years of high school with those two. I am nowhere near stupid enough to take that bet. How could you tell that they were…?" Kurt fumbled for words and Blaine shrugged.

"Involved? I dunno, gaydar? Or maybe it was the fact that when we were all walking together, Santana had her hand on Brit's butt the whole time? You'd have to be blind to miss that."

"The double standard of the whole thing reeks," Kurt muttered, slightly huffy. "Two guys want to hold hands in public and everyone averts their eyes and thinks that the devil's upon us. A girl walks by actively groping her girlfriend and everyone thinks it's the hottest thing since the Sahara Desert. Not sure whether I ought to be offended as a gay guy or as a man in general."

Blaine's brain never had a chance to catch up before he thoughtlessly leaned over the table and brushed his lips to Kurt's cheek.

"Not quite an asspat, but—oh, oops."

Kurt's jaw had dropped the moment Blaine had kissed him and now all he could do was stare in shock, pink rising high on his cheekbones. It seemed like the entire food court had missed the whole thing but Blaine was floundering, recoiling slightly and raising his hands in surrender.

"Oh my god, Kurt, I am so sorry. Please don't be pissed at me—"

"Sticky," Kurt declared.

Blaine froze.

"…huh?"

"Your lips were sticky, and now my cheek is sticky too. What are you going to do about it?" His voice held a challenge and Blaine shifted, openly confused at why he wasn't getting pummeled into the ground.

"Ummm… I'm going to offer you my napkin and plead eternal forgiveness. "Blaine gulped, going a little pale. "And if it won't get me beaten up, ask you out to dinner, but not for forgiveness. Just…just because I want to."

It was Kurt's turn to still this time, staring Blaine steadily in the eyes. He could feel his head swimming just a little bit as if he couldn't quite believe that he'd really heard what he thought he'd heard. He couldn't possibly have heard what he'd thought he'd heard. But he must have, because Blaine was watching him with a look of stark terror and still waiting for a response.

A response.

From him.

About a date.

"You mean what I _think_ you mean…right?"

"If what you're thinking that what I mean is that I want to go on a date with you, then yes."

Freezing, then something clicked, and Kurt was feeling the most potent elation he thought he'd ever experienced in his life.

And then Blaine found himself with an armful of Kurt, uncaring of the fact that now people _were_ watching, flinging his arms around him and squeezing him tight.

"Yes!" the taller boy exclaimed emphatically into Blaine's neck, and Blaine could feel the smile on his face. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, _definitely_ yes!"

Finally, he pulled away, realizing with a jolt that yeah, they were totally in public and that might be just a little bit of a problem with this crowd. The cinnamon roll was gone though, and Kurt's heart felt like it was going to explode with happiness.

"Shall we go find my girls?" he asked, unable to subdue his smile in the slightest, "They might be wondering why their plot went awry."

"Somehow, I feel like their plot went exactly as they wanted it to."

As Blaine got up to join him and laced their hands together, he eyed the proud, imperious look on his maybe-soon-to-be-boyfriend's face and the way a simple sway of his hips screamed out _yeah, you'd better be jealous_ just as blatantly as Santana's had, walking fearlessly.

Blaine knew better than to try and emulate that sway, but he thought maybe, just maybe the half smug, half over the moon smile the curled at his lips did the same thing just as well.

* * *

><p>AN2: YES, THANK GOD THEY'RE FINALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE. I thought that the angsty chapters were hardest, but they had nothing on this one, my goodness. I hope you liked it! Please review if you liked it or even if you hated it, praise and criticism are a writer's life blood.<p> 


	11. Bright Eyes

Songbird

* * *

><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: LOL what. No.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for all of the feedback last chapter! I'm thrilled that the overall response was good. I'm sorry to tell you, but this chapter is the second to last, so we're coming to an end up in here. I really hope that this chapter makes you happy, because it was certainly fun as hell to write. I'm not sure what it is, but somehow, everything ends up coming back to food. Maybe it's because food is a social unifier, or maybe it's just because I'm a shameless, shameless foodie.<p>

By the way, I'm so sorry that I'm been horrible about answering reviews lately. Real life has been kicking my butt and throwing all sorts of stuff at me, including but not limited to intense laptop issues.

Tl;dr: I'm a nerdy foodie and scum for not answering my reviews properly.

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven: Bright Eyes<p>

* * *

><p>"Oh my god."<p>

"_Kurt, calm down."_

"No, no, 'Cedes, you don't understand-"

"_I understand that you need to calm down before you hurt yourself. It's dinner, not a marriage proposal."_

Kurt was pacing his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth. His bed looked like the Bermuda Triangle of where clothes came to die, covered in a mountain of shirts and pants and scarves and coats and for all he knew there were probably some hats hidden in there too.

He had absolutely nothing to wear.

As if sensing his thoughts, Mercedes sighed on the other line.

"_Do you need me to come over there and help you?"_

"No!" he exclaimed, scrutinizing a pair of dark wash jeans, "I can do this. Besides, we're supposed to leave in a half hour—oh god I only have thirty minutes—"

"_Kurt Hummel, I don't care where you are right now. Sit your ass down and breathe for a minute."_

Wordlessly, the boy obeyed, sitting down in a heap right in the middle of a pile of socks.

"_You listen to me. That boy likes you. You could probably wear a burlap bag and he'd be happy. So just _pick_ something or I'll text Puck and tell him to call you and 'help'."_

"Please don't." For a few moments they were both silent, until Kurt spoke again. "Okay, I think I'm calm –or at least a little calmer- now. Thank you, 'Cedes, you've always been my best girl." He couldn't see her, but he could feel her smile through the headset, "I'm going to go now and pick something to wear. I'll call you when I get home?"

"_You'd be in big trouble if you didn't, boy. I'll talk to you later. Blow his mind."_

"Absolutely. Talk to you later, sweetheart."

"_Later, honey. Good luck!"_

Kurt ended the call and surveyed his room again, sighing when he realized the kind of mess he'd have to deal with when he got home that night. Finally, he walked over to one of the piles and pulled out a pair of charcoal grey skinnies that had once been described as, in Puckerman's charming words, tighter than spandex on a fat kid. Terrifying image aside, he couldn't really go wrong with them, at any rate.

Twenty seven minutes and 24 seconds later, he was pacing up and down his living room, fully clothed now but now even more nervous than before.

Was he too dressed up? Not enough? Staring at the cluster of daisies on the table, he wondered if it was weird to give the date-asker flowers, then decided he didn't care if it was.

A knock sounded on the door and he jumped, floundered for the flowers and nearly dropped them, before throwing the door open. His breath caught in his throat.

Blaine stood on the doorstep, tugging nervously on the collar of the dusty red button-up under the warm brown short coat, and brown jeans tucked into a pair of boots that were probably actually meant to be worked in, unlike Kurt's. He didn't put a drop of gel in his hair. Hazel eyes looked Kurt up and down in the same way that Kurt was staring at him, and a ridiculously goofy smile spread over his face.

"Wow, you look awesome. And hi."

Kurt beamed.

"Hi, you look pretty damned good yourself. And here!" Nervously, he thrust out the flowers and Blaine stared for a few second before taking them and sheepishly pulling his other hand behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of blue hydrangea blossoms tied together with a ribbon.

"And for you as well," he replied, bringing the daisies to his nose and sniffing delicately.

"Do you mind if I run back and put them in some water?" Kurt asked quickly, unable to keep from smiling at the flowers in his hands. Blaine shot him a thumbs up.

"Only if you don't care if I take thirty seconds to do the same. I'd hate for them to die on me."

Exactly one minute and thirteen seconds later, Blaine reached out and laced his fingers with Kurt's, still amazed that yeah, he could totally do this now.

"You like Chinese?" he asked conversationally, leading the way out to his car, "I know a really nice place about twenty minutes away. It's small and quiet and they have a dim sum special four pages long right around this time." Kurt's eyes lit up.

"Dim sum is perfect. Funny, I would have thought you'd be a more of an Italian kind of guy."

"I am a mystery. My sole purpose in life is to be unexpected and inexplicable in a way that cannot be anything other than the epitome of sexy."

"Oh, definitely," Kurt replied, trying his hardest not to laugh as he buckled his seat belt. "You're not quite Antonio Banderas, because really, who is? But about as close as I can get to Latin flair in this town without looking at the other gender." Unable to resist, Blaine made a purring sound, making the other boy lose it just a little bit, shaking with laughter.

"How about Filipino flair?"

"Filipino flair is absolutely fantastic," Kurt declared. He was feeling better about this by the second and he could feel his nerves slipping away and being replaced by normalcy. This was Blaine. Just Blaine, who he liked very, very much, but had been good friends with _first_. And they were still good friends, but now they could hug and hold hands and cuddle and kiss at some point in the near future whenever they wanted to if this date went well, and that was _awesome _and way more than he ever expected for himself.

* * *

><p>The stacks of steamers were almost reaching over their heads by now and Blaine thought that the waiters were at the point of taking bets on the two of them. Eating was almost as much fun as watching Kurt eat, deftly handling the chopsticks as he verbally debated with himself on whether he wanted to eat the turnip cake or the barbeque pork bun because there was only one left of both and he had refused to let Blaine give him both, despite the fact that they could always order more.<p>

And had already.

Twice.

"Come on, seriously. It's no big deal to ask for another order of them."

"It's the principle of the thing," Kurt replied, brushing a bit of his hair out of the way. In his frantic urge to find clothing for the night he'd completely forgotten to do something with his hair, but the second they pulled into the parking lot, Blaine had reached over and run his fingers through it, so he couldn't really complain. "I don't like eating the last of things, it makes me feel like a pig."

The sheer amount of food that Kurt needed was more than average (read: impressive) and his frame made him seem as if he didn't eat much at all and it was all the more obvious now. Maybe that was why the waiters were staring wide-eyed.

Or maybe they were jealous, Blaine thought smugly.

"Here, then," he said eventually, reaching out with a chopstick and slicing each piece in half. Or rather, he tried and gave up on the pork bun, eventually just giving in and pulling it in two, taking one half of each. "There, now both of us take the last."

"And yet, neither of us take the last," Kurt finished, a pleased smile curling at his lips. He felt like he hadn't been able to stop smiling all evening. Flowers, a wonderful meal, a fantastically fun, well-dressed date… it kind of couldn't get any better. Or so he thought, until a steamer of Shanghai soup buns was placed on the table along with a shallow saucer of chili oil. "Ooooh, I love these things."

"I don't remember ordering those… Hell, I don't even know what they are," Blaine muttered, glancing around for the waiter who'd brought them. He caught the man in the corner, met his eyes, and raised an eyebrow.

The guy merely straightened his tie and shot him a thumbs up, before gesturing with a subdued smile to Kurt, who was ignoring the entire exchange in favor of taking a bite in such a way that he neither dropped it nor let the soup inside spill everywhere. Blaine returned the smile after a glance and took one for himself, examining it curiously.

"What are these things?" he asked absently.

"They're soup buns. Whoever cooks them makes a broth aspic gel and wraps it up in the skin with meat and scallions and stuff, and then when it gets cooked, the gel melts into liquid soup." Kurt explained with a flourish, finishing off his first one with a contented smile. "Be careful, they're insanely hot and will scald the daylights out of you if you're not careful."

Properly wary, Blaine took a bite and realized that in no way was Kurt kidding about the temperature. His tongue burned but it was totally worth it, he realized, savoring the combination of soup, meat chunks, and tender dumpling skin.

"Oh my god, that is delicious," he muttered half with his mouth full, watching as Kurt gleefully snatched up another dumpling, popping it into his mouth and shivering in what was unmistakable food bliss. "You should make these."

The other boy snorted.

"Oh no, no, no, no," he denied immediately, "There is one thing that I am not nearly ballsy enough to attempt and that is aspic. Not once in my life have I ever gotten one to set properly, and I think it's some sort of deity telling to please just stop and move on with my life."

"Come on, you know you want to."

"No. It only leads to pain and anguish."

"Please? I'll praise you forever."

"Tempting, very tempting, but no," The taller boy said with finality, trying and failing to wipe the grin off his face. It really, really wasn't working. "I think it's better if we just come back here next time we want them." He froze, suddenly, and began to backpedal, "I mean, if you still want to go out with me by the end of this."

"Kurt, are you crazy? I'm totally going to want to go out with you again. Here, somewhere else, one of the apartments, anywhere. Not that I think I think that we're going to have _dates_ at night in the apartments because that's now just implying that we're gonna— b-b-but I wouldn't be adverse to that at some point in the far future and- oh god, I need to shut up. Please stop me, I am so sorry—" Blaine didn't have a choice but to stop talking when Kurt began to laugh, voice light and airy as if infused with clouds or something equally metaphorical and fluffy.

"Oh my gosh, you are adorable," he gasped out when he could speak again, color high on his cheeks and beaming as if he'd never stop. "You are so cute I can't stand it."

Blaine wasn't sure if it was the residual embarrassment or the flattery but he could nevertheless feel the telltale heat radiating out from his face and he covered it much like a cat groomed after falling off the couch: he grabbed another soup bun and ate it as if it held the secrets to the universe. Finally, he peeked up, the side of his lips quirking to the sky.

"Cute enough to try making these?"

"Not a chance, boy. Not even puppies with wings are that cute."

* * *

><p>"There is nothing better than a park in winter at night. You must be magical," Kurt commented later after about three more steamer orders and a very large tip to the waiters.<p>

"That's me," Blaine replied, "Magic to the core."

The air was frigid and brisk and a cold wind blew just hard enough to get snowflakes down their collars. The normally inky sky was covered with dark, grey-purple clouds and the park lights were hazy with frost, softening the glow. There wasn't anyone else walking around at this hour, and the only sounds that could be heard were their voices and the crunching of the snow under their feet.

Kurt shivered and reached out to take Blaine's hand, giving it a brief squeeze before sticking them both in his coat pocket, fingers laced together.

"How are you staying so warm?" the shorter boy asked amiably, using his other hand to brush frost off of his hair.

"Happiness," Kurt replied with another squeeze. "And a good scarf. And you're helping too."

"I've got a better idea."

Hesitating slightly, Blaine removed his hand from Kurt's pocket and wrapped his arm around his shoulder instead, drawing the younger boy close enough to sidle up against him. Kurt's arm found its way to his waist and settled on his hip, fingers absently twining into his belt loops.

"Better?" he asked, and promptly caught a please smile in response.

"Oh no, absolutely horrible," Kurt teased, leaning in just a tiny bit closer, "I've never been more offended in my life, really."

"Oh? Funny way of showing it, that," Blaine smiled to show teeth, halting where they were and side-stepping so he faced the other boy instead of keeping him at his side. "Can I be just a little more offensive?"

The words and tone were light, there was a seriousness in his eyes and it was clear that it came through loud and clear, as Kurt cocked his head to the side before inching slightly closer.

"Are you going to show me your ankles too?" he asked and took half a step more to encircle Blaine's waist with his arm, pulling him in for a hug. As easily as if he'd grown up doing it, the other boy returned the hug, Kurt fitting into his arms perfectly as if he belonged there, holding him tightly in the middle of a snowfall.

"Can I kiss you?"

Blaine's breath came warm and unexpected in Kurt's ear and the younger boy shivered in a way that didn't come from the cold in the slightest, inhaling shakily and feeling the tension in Blaine's back under his hand. Kurt didn't trust himself to answer, choosing instead to nod silently, pulling away just enough to look Blaine in the eyes. A hand came up to cup his cheek and trace the edge of his jaw and blue eyes closed by instinct.

Kurt always thought that people must have been kidding or just being overdramatic whenever they spoke about fireworks in a kiss, and his mind wasn't changed when Blaine leaned up and brushed his lips to his, waiting for the favorable reaction of Kurt kissing him back before applying more pressure. Fireworks didn't hold a candle to the feeling that shot through him, something shivery and warm that felt like comfort and video games at three in the morning and cheesy ballads and splitting the last dim sum and _home_. Experience didn't count for as much as he thought that it might (it was one of the things he'd worried about in the first place) because he was positive that he wasn't the best kisser in the world but Blaine was beaming into his lips anyway. The last thing on Kurt's mind was how much kissing Blaine had done himself because he was here _now_, kissing _Kurt_, and being someone's first kiss didn't hold a candle to the possibility of being the last one.

He pulled back slightly, though his grip on the other boy didn't loosen.

"You are wonderful," Kurt told him firmly, "And I'd like to be yours as long as you'll have me."

Blaine almost laughed with relief. Almost. He certainly didn't shiver into the kiss that followed, not at all.

"Good thing," he murmured lowly, "Because that goes double for me and I don't see myself getting over you anytime soon."

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><p>AN2: AND THERE YOU GO. It's a little short and I apologize, but I didn't want to stuff it with filler that didn't really matter. And really, what's the best ending note to a chapter but two adorable boys kissing in a park in the snow at night? Really. Just think about that and tell me that it doesn't make you happy. Anyway, as always, please leave a review! I really love to read everything you have to say<p> 


	12. Sunburst

Songbird

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><p>Summary: Blaine's a young songwriter who's stuck in a rut. Kurt's an independent cyborg with music software installed. Blaine knows that Kurt could totally be his meal ticket if he'd just freaking cooperate for once. Kurt just wants Blaine to understand that he's not just a machine, even if that means sitting back and letting him flounder. AU, Klaine.<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: LOL what. No.<p>

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><p>AN: So, this is the last chapter, you guys. Thank you so much for sticking with me and encouraging me, and I really, really hope that you've enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. YOU GUYS ARE SO WONDERFUL THAT I COULD CRY FROM SHEER LOVE. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.<p>

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><p>Chapter Twelve: Sunburst<p>

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><p>On day zero, Blaine Anderson was born as the first son to the co-founder of the Anderson &amp; Johnson law firm. He was red and squashy and wriggly and wailed at the top of his lungs. His mother immediately declared that he was definitely cut out to be a lawyer, the way he shrieked and fussed relentlessly. Once the screaming died down, he was bright-eyed and grabby-handed, fingers tangling in her hair and yanking.<p>

On his first birthday, Blaine Anderson was still bright-eyed and grabby-handed but had developed an affinity for banging pots and pans together in a cacophony that had his parents going slowly insane. Once he had learned to walk there was no slowing him anymore, especially once he realized that he didn't need a ledge or a tabletop to get around. It didn't help that he ended up concussing himself halfway through the year by smacking his head on the coffee table.

On Blaine's fifth birthday, he hadn't seriously hurt himself in several years but that didn't stop his mother from worrying helplessly or his father from shaking his head in slight despair. Blaine insisted on joining the kiddie league football team and was one of the tallest children on it. He swore that he was going to continue to be the tallest until he towered over everyone. That year, Blaine's mother got a robot for the house to do some of the chores, but decided that she didn't like it all that much, especially after it had fallen out of the closet unexpectedly and broken a couple of Blaine's fingers.

On Blaine Anderson's thirteenth birthday, he realized that his football dream was one destined to go down the pipes. Blaine also realized that he didn't think about girls and boys the same way that his peers did and understood, without knowing _why_ that it was considered wrong. He decided to ignore it, to hide it, and never tell anyone. He threw himself into soccer now because he wasn't big enough to play football anymore and pretended to appraise the cheerleader's chests. It never really worked, but he made it through without any uproar.

On his sixteenth birthday, Natalie cornered him in the hallway during his party and told him that she knew he liked boys and that it was okay. Blaine tried to brush it off, tried to lie, but she'd always been one who followed her instincts. Eventually he'd admit that yes, she was right, and she'd hugged him around the neck as if she'd never let go. With a morose expression, she told Blaine that she loved him dearly but that if he had any sense at all, he'd _never_ tell their father. Blaine began to throw himself even harder into his practices with the Warblers, and began to form an idea in his head about one day writing music himself.

For his eighteenth birthday, Blaine celebrated by going out with his family for a dinner that was also being held in honor of his early acceptance to university. Blaine was given a lottery ticket from his father and, hours later in his bedroom, a gay porno magazine from Natalie that immediately got put underneath the mattress for safekeeping. Anderson senior got significantly more intoxicated than he usually allowed himself, and went on a long tangent on the dangers of the homosexual agenda during dinner. Blaine sat silently and tried not to squirm.

By his twentieth birthday, Blaine had decided that law school wasn't in his future either and dropped all of his relevant classes in exchange for musical theory and vocal technique. He wouldn't speak to his father until after his twenty-first. Wes would ask him conversationally if he thought that the boy in Physics was cute, and Blaine would drop his spoon and sputter as his friend carried on as if he hadn't just dropped a metaphorical nuke. He'd write his first song and it would be such an absolute failure that not even easy-going David could sit through it without burying his face in his hands and groaning.

For Blaine's twenty-second birthday, he'd spend most of the evening dancing on a table with Kurt, wearing the other boy's top hat for longer than he did. His world would be tossed upside-down and he'd have what he figured was probably the douchiest reaction he'd ever have in his life and run away from the person who was beginning to mean the most to him. He'd think that it should be much more difficult to accept someone's differences than it ended up being, and Blaine wouldn't have traded what happened for anything in the world. Blaine had never been inclined to stop and listen, preferring to barrel on as if nothing could catch him, but the moment that he told himself to stop thinking and feel instead was pivotal.

On his twenty-third birthday… well. _That_ was a surprise.

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><p>One day zero, Kurt Hummel was born broken to the head of the bioengineering department at the most advanced and renowned technology company in the world. He looked red and crinkly just like other babies but he didn't wriggle around and he didn't make a sound. He didn't move at all, resting in his mother's arms as still as if he was dead, though his eyes were open and as aware as a baby could be. His father gathered his most trusted and competent team together and they began to construct a way for their boss's broken child to live.<p>

Kurt wasn't walking on his first birthday, unable to quite control his limbs yet and he wouldn't until just before he turned three. The daily injections to keep him growing at a normal rate made him ache, and he wailed and sobbed through the physical therapy. He was given a large slice of cake to play with at his party, but unlike most babies, he didn't smash his hands into it and smear it all over his face. Instead, tiny Kurt Hummel ate it as delicately as he could, scooping off the icing rose first with an unholy glee.

By his fifth birthday, Kurt was indistinguishable from the average child. He ran around like a mad thing but would settle down to read books with his mother by turn. He enjoyed dress-up quite a bit, and begged Elizabeth Hummel to paint his nails aquamarine. She obliged him and he painted hers in return the best he could, and when Burt came home, the first thing his son did was ask him if they were pretty. He smiled and said that yes, of course they were, before pulling a cake box out from behind his back.

On Kurt's ninth birthday, he'd been without his mother for six months and spent his entire birthday in tears, curled up on the couch with his father. They'd tried to have a party, but the last thing Kurt wanted to do was celebrate.

By the time his thirteenth birthday had rolled around, Kurt had been doing his nightly virus scan for six years without supervision, after a particularly disastrous event in which he forgot about it and woke up unable move the fingers in his left hand. The injections that he had to have had slowed in frequency but increased in amount for his growth spurt and the constant aching in his body made him crankier than he normally was. He'd inadvertently come out to his father a few months before, but the impact of that little human difference was all too clear to him now, leaving him friendless in school, never mind giving him even the slightest chance to look and admire.

By sixteen, Kurt Hummel had made the decision that if he couldn't be accepted for whom he was, then he was going to make the entire school burn. Metaphorically, of course. He became the kicker on the football team for a season and a Cheerio for the rest of high school, cementing his bonds with the girls in glee who would become his closest friends and the people on the squad. It wouldn't seem like a lot at first, but he almost cried when he found himself in the girl's restroom to clean off a slushie, and someone who wasn't Mercedes helped him wipe it off and rinse out his hair. His birthday that year was a special one, taking place in _Rachel Berry_'s basement of all places. He'd have gone through what would forever be known as the Finn Fiasco, but even that wouldn't be enough to make him regret it when he saw the way Carole made his father smile, and he figured that a little hurt was more than enough to endure for Burt Hummel's happiness.

For his seventeenth birthday, Kurt's cake was neither bought from a store or baked himself. Instead, he'd come home with Finn to find a beaming Carole in the living room, who immediately enfolded him into a hug and half-bounced into the kitchen to show him her creation: a towering monster of a cake covered with chocolate and roses and filled with strawberries. Kurt tried not to but was eventually rendered helpless by the urge to cry, burying his face into his hands and sobbing until he looked up into Finn's terrified oh-my-god-he's-crying-what-do-I-do face made him begin to laugh. That birthday was wonderful and full of light, and Kurt Hummel didn't think that he could ever be so happy again, even if he tried.

If Kurt's seventeenth year marker was the best, his eighteenth was the worst. Oh, the party itself was wonderful and fun but Kurt still spent most of it in tears, bitter about the social ostracization from everyone but his closest friends and the rejection letters and the residual terror that seeped into him at every loud noise and slamming door, reminding him of helplessness, fear, and absolute fury. He met Blaine that year and moved into a place by himself. He'd already known well how to feel lonely with people around; that year he learned to feel loved while he was alone.

For his nineteenth birthday…

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><p>"Oh my god."<p>

Those were the only words that Kurt could find to say from his spot on the floor. His apartment was full of people: former classmates and former teachers (he was so relieved that Emma would still speak to him after he did that to her poor shoes, but did Coach Sylvester really have to make vomit threats to scare her to the other side of the room?) and…

And they were all staring in shock and amusement at his boyfriend, who'd clambered onto the top of Kurt's coffee table and was gazing down at him with _that_ look. The one that said _I am about two seconds away from doing something horrifying._

"You find out that I'm crushing on the boy next door," he sang out, looking Kurt in the eyes, and Kurt buried his face in his hands, already shaking in laughter. Puck hooted and pounded him enthusiastically on the back, shooting Blaine-on-the-table a hearty thumbs up.

Thank you, Noah Puckerman.

"Do you let it slide and sympathize?" Kurt sang back playfully once he pulled himself back together a little, "No, you make me do everything you can to make me shout it out—"

"Because you're a dick!" Puck interjected, draping an arm around Quinn, who looked as if she was debating on pretending that she'd never met him before.

Blaine outstretched a hand to Kurt with a waggle of his eyebrows and the birthday boy scrambled to his feet, rolling his eyes as he gracefully stepped up onto the table amidst the hollers of his friends and his boyfriend's friends who'd become _his_ friends too.

"Thank you, my good sir," he said lightly before picking up the chorus, tilting his body closely enough to wrap an arm around Blaine's waist, entangling his fingers in his belt loops, "All my friends are dicks! All my friends are dicks! But they're dicks who love you when you need them," He pumped his free arm in the arm and leaned forward to fist bump Puck and Sam in turn.

"Dicks who shove you off the ledge, dicks who hug you but smack you first…" Blaine bumped Kurt's hip with his, catching an exasperated grin and soaking it in, "All my friends are dicks…"

"But I wouldn't have it any other way~" With a flourish, Kurt took a jaunty bow and stepped back down to the floor, reclaiming his spot just before reaching out to tug on Blaine's ankle. "Get down here, you show-off."

"Since when am I the show-off? What, so _you_ get to dance on a table but I can't?"

"I seem to recall that we did quite a bit of that together, thank you very much," Almost immediately, the chestnut-haired boy was drowned out with catcalls and he scowled, "Not like _that_,"

"Oh, it was definitely like that, he had his hands on your hips and everything," David quipped, "Seriously though, Blaine? Get down, you're gonna break his table."

"I am not, Kurt takes this table very seriously and I've had practice—whoa!" Blaine cut off when Kurt stood again and grabbed him about the shoulders, manhandling him off the table and into his lap, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Be. Quiet. No one needs to know about your practice."

"Make me," Blaine whispered back, just teasingly enough to bring color to his boyfriend's (boyfriend's!) cheeks.

He wasn't expecting the _oh, screw it_ shrug from Kurt just before he leaned in closer, pressing his lips firmly to Blaine's right in front of all of their friends and –oh god- former teachers. Thank god they weren't even remotely in school anymore, even if they had never actually been Blaine's teachers to start with. He'd known that none of them were going to be horrified (they were there because Kurt had liked them, after all) but he hadn't expected the tiniest of proud smirks to pass over the face of the cheerleading coach and a slightly embarrassed slow clap from Schuester.

Both of them look over to see Finn, bright red, staring intently at the ceiling.

"Finn Hudson, do you have a problem?" Rachel asked from his left, placing emphasis on the word 'problem', "If you do, you can always go and talk to my dads—"

"Dude, no, he's my _brother!_"

"I love you, Rachel Berry," Kurt muttered under his breath, watching his brother be relentlessly distracted from his embarrassment, "For once in my life, I appreciate your insatiable attention-seeking."

"What about _my_ insatiable attention-seeking?" Blaine asked, idly running his fingers up Kurt's sides.

"That I'm okay with because as we all know," the other boy replied, "_I_ also happen to be an insatiable attention-seeker as well. And if you tickle me, I swear to everything it will be the last thing you ever do." Blaine looked slightly downcast for maybe half a second before he shrugged and relaxed into Kurt's hold, loose and easy.

He never would have dreamed that he'd be here, okay with doing this sort of thing in front of people, and to have those people not care at all. He didn't even think that he'd ever have someone to do this sort of thing with, assuming that he'd probably go through life hiding and keeping his distance, going out on the occasional date with a family friend's daughter, just enough to keep his father from knowing. But to be here now, with people who knew and didn't _care_… To not only not care, but to encourage it entirely with random thumbs ups and sleazy grins and oh-my-goodness-you-guys-are-the-cutest-evers. It was almost surreal.

But as Kurt said often enough as if it explained everything, that was glee for you.

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><p>Blaine had two birthday parties for his twenty-fourth. The first was with his family the night before the actual day, one that would remain in memory as the Most Uncomfortable Hullabaloo Ever.<p>

He hadn't actually seen his father face-to-face since he'd cut the law program in college and he knew that the feelings had never really been smoothed over. From the get-go, neither of them really knew how to treat each other, relying on Natalie and Alexa Anderson to keep the silences from getting too long.

For a while, it went just fine.

They ate, they made conversation, Alexa told her only son that she heard _Human_ on the radio the other day and thought it was wonderful, though she confessed to being slightly confused as to where it had come from. Natalie, who Blaine could swear up and down knew everything that pertained to Blaine ever, merely smirked and shook her head, eyes glowing.

Everything was fine.

Until Blaine took a breath, exhaled, and squeezed Natalie's hand under the table. The words came low and unsteady but sure and unashamed.

_Dad, I'm gay. I've known for a long time and kept it a secret, but now you know._

Hands had slammed down on the table and Brad Anderson had reddened, staring at his son as if he'd never seen him before in his life. Blaine, pale and wide-eyed, didn't move an inch, clinging to his little sister's hand with the force of the desperate.

_Honey, please calm down_ Alexa had said but her words didn't make much of a difference.

_What the hell is this, Blaine? You're _gay? _Since when?_

_Since ever. I've known since I was thirteen_, Blaine had said stiffly, jaw clenched and defensive. _I have a boyfriend. It'll be two years in December._

Everything had gone to hell immediately after that. No one had spoken at all and when the meal was over, Blaine grabbed his bag and half-ran for the door after a quick hug to Natalie. He had skidded out of the restaurant and driven as quickly as he could back to the apartment but didn't bother unlocking his own door, instead rapping sharply on Kurt's.

It opened immediately, just like his always did.

Blaine stepped forward with his arms outstretched, catching and caught.

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><p>AN2: THERE YOU GO. IT'S OVER. DONE. THERE ISN'T ANY MORE.<p>

Please let me know if you liked this! Review with praise, review with rotten tomatoes, I am okay with either. I'm so grateful for everyone who's stuck by me, I really, really am. LOVE LOVE LOVE.


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